


Prayer to the Dread Wolf

by ArcaneDelight



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Leadership, M/M, Romance, Spiritual, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 59,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3241436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcaneDelight/pseuds/ArcaneDelight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhawlin Lavellan came to the Inquisition from the Lavellan Clan, but that's not where her journey started. Various aspects about her bring her companions to question her at the worst time. Her heart has been broken, the world stands on the edge of ruin, and her faith is rewarded with lies. Eventual smut, fluff, comfort. Inspired by religion and lack of Dalish accent. Lots of relationship hints that are pretty much just to make me smile. I hope you enjoy.<br/>Update: I fixed chapter 5 where I'd gotten some details mixed up.</p><p>I have still not forgotten about this fic! Life became very weird for me and I haven't even gotten to play the Trespasser DLC yet (though I know how it goes for the most part.) I will likely tie this fic up very quickly when I finally get the chance to sit down and work on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Way She Speaks

"So, where are you from?" Varric's voice cut through the morning silence, pulling The Inner Circle's attentions from their breakfast. Rhawlin Lavellan looked up from her tea to meet the dwarf's amber gaze, a confused frown curving her lips.

"I traveled with clan Lavellan, of course." Instinctively, she brushed her fingertips down her chin as she answered. Before, she would trace the single line of her vallaslin that ran down her bottom lip to branch into her throat, as she had done for years. Now, they were gone. Her large, molten gold eyes flickered to where Solas sat. He drank tea as well, which surprised her, with a solemn downward gaze that ever avoided meeting hers. Quickly withdrawing her hand and her gaze, she returned both to a cooling bowl of porridge in front of her.

Among her companions was an uneasy shifting, awkward tension among those who knew her enough to understand. Everyone present fell neatly into that category; she had noted earlier that Vivienne, Cole, and Blackwall were not present. Much to her relief, for their varying reasons. Varric, kind as he was, never moved from looking at her or acted as if he noticed the rising discomfort.

"Well you see, Scarlet-" Rhawlin smirked slightly as she stirred her cementing breakfast, unable to hide the good humor that Varric's nickname inspired. "-and no offense. You just don't seem very... Dalish." The dwarf made vague motions as he fought to find the correct word, gave up, and settled for blunt honesty.

"S'not very elfy, is she?" Sera spoke with obvious satisfaction that Rhawlin simply ignored, having found agreeing to disagree the best strategy when it came to Sera and elves. A nervous flitter of laughter passed the Inquisitor's lips, tinged with her sour mood and heartache.

"I assure you, I am definitely an elf." She smiled to her rogue companions. "The other youths in my clan made me question that often enough until I received my.." Her pupils dilated and then quickly shrunk, pausing her for only a moment. "Until I became an adult."

"Issit 'cause you're ears are all floppy?" Sera yelped her laughter before taking a too-big bite of banana.

"No," Rhawlin began, quirking a brow at Sera's very unsubtle observation. Her face twisted some as she felt down the length of her exceptionally drawn out ears, that eventually twisted down to overlap a bit at the tips. They weren't really floppy, but she knew they would bend back to point if she pulled them. "Although that wasn't ignored. They told me I looked like a human's mabari mutt." Sera gasped and made a disgusted face, forcing banana mush out of the corner of her mouth, and Rhawlin chuckled.

"Well, that was pretty mean of your clan." Varric let a smudge of laughter into his voice, as if to soften the obvious news.

"Oh, it was mostly the children. And I actually always liked that one. I rather enjoyed the idea of being a great beast like a mabari."

"That's a great way to look at it, Boss." Iron Bull spoke, leaning back in his chair against the wall with his hand resting on his full belly. He gave a proud smirk when she looked at him and Rhawlin smiled, nodding in respect.

"So, what did they do that you needed to question your worth?" This from Cassandra, who leaned forward with her elbows on the table, peering down the length of the table at their leader.

The Inquisitor was an expert at keeping a blank face, and used her expertise well as she mentally flinched at the sudden dredging into her past. Up until now she had done so well at keeping questions at a minimum. But this day, like the couple weeks before it, she started her days too early and fell into her bed too late, and constantly heavy with heartache and dread. Morrigan had said Corypheus would not wait to fall on us after returning from the Well of Sorrows. And yet, here it had been a month and they had still had not even a word or whisper of his movements.

"Well.." Rhawlin allowed herself a small sigh. "I was always just too odd. I didn't look the same and I was just too.. fanciful as a child. A weird looking dreamer who stayed in the trees too long." She had hoped that would have been enough to satisfy, but scrunched her nose as Varric, Sera and Cassandra looked at her with interested and questioning faces.

Lavellan recalled a few stories about her clan's mild cruelties regarding her freckled, red-tanned skin, only shades lighter than her burgundy hair. Many elves had yellow tinted eyes, but the gold of hers was too bright, she'd been told. Of course her ears had received special attention, and insults came from nearly all of her clan in various forms. Rhawlin told these stories quickly and with little detail for only about ten minutes, looking between the rest of her companions as they one-by-one devoted their attention to her. She started her last little memory with hopes that it would be enough to allow her to retreat without revealing too much.

"Clan Lavellan has a custom where the Keeper pairs up the youth who are becoming adults. We're free to deny the Keeper's choice but, ah, its almost like a passed-down superstition. Its romantic to the children who hear stories about it, little girls fawning over their fated love and little boys fantasizing about the hunt to prove their adulthood, and thus able to marry. Ethon, this smaller lad, he was my match. He was heartbroken. He cried that he could not love Andruil's mistake.. I stayed in the trees for weeks, until we moved on." By the end of her short recollection, her bored tone had become wistful and almost amused.

Regardless of their varying knowledge of elvhen lore, the table of her friends grimaced and muttered angrily, along with a couple soldiers a table over who had started listening halfway through the stories. 'Heartbroken?' she heard, 'couldn't love!?' someone gasped, 'a fuckin' mistake!' someone repeated, taken aback. Rhawlin felt more then she saw Solas shift awkwardly in his seat on the far caddy-cornered end, his gaze averted upwards. She didn't completely understand why, but her broken heart surged with wicked glee at his discomfort.

Suddenly, Dorian quipped above the murmuring group, "I think your eyes are absolutely stunning. Don't they glow in the dark? Very useful while traveling." Loud, the mage suddenly the center of attention, and a smattering of laughter and concurring whispers followed, along with a grateful smile from the Inquisitor.

Solas huffed softly, looking at Dorian midway up the table and speaking only loud enough to be heard. "They are indeed very reflective. They catch light so easily."

Dorian ignored him with a wave of his hand, never looking from Iron Bull who was spinning some story about the Inquisitor making spiders scatter with her torchlight eyes when they first met at the Wounded Coast to the eavesdropping soldiers. More had started flocking over with interest, asking hurried questions to catch up.

Rhawlin watched them all for a few moments, smiling softly to herself while the topics dwindled away from her past and onto stories of travels and battles and taverns. Varric and Sera argued over something about some Dalish clans not appreciating or using gold. Iron Bull struggled to tell his inspiring stories passed Cassandra's persistent correction of his skewed details while Dorian watched in amusement. Solas was quickly drinking his tea, rushing to finish it.

Iron Bull stood suddenly, slamming his large hands into the table with enthusiasm and causing a wave of tipping glasses. Water spilled across the table and into Cassandra's lap, who jumped to her feet and knocked over her chair, the bang echoing throughout the mostly empty dining hall. The conversations ceased, the soldiers disbanded and returned to their waiting duties, and several of Skyhold's cleaning staff rushed in to take their place.

Cassandra excused herself quickly, leaving in a rush while muttering about the 'blasted Qunari'. Iron Bull was shooed by the bustling staff and he left, apologizing to the Inquisitor through his laughter. Sera followed him, laughing in unison and jabbering about how the pranks she was inspired to pull. This left Rhawlin in the company of Varric, Dorian, and Solas as the four of them quietly helped collect the unbroken dishes. After a moment, the elf resigned to her duty and asked what was needed.

"Has anyone seen Blackwall, Vivienne or Cole?" Rhawlin announced her question to no one in particular, getting used to her demands being easily fulfilled, sparse as they were. Vivienne rarely ate with the rest of them and Blackwall had been reclusive since his return, but it was worth asking.

"The Iron Lady is actually in the garden today." Varric responded, looking up from the table. "Apparently Morrigan is spending time in the library. She said, 'Better enjoy it before the witch glooms it up again'. And Blackwall, he was helping with the horses earlier."

"I shall find Cole, Inquisitor." Solas said, handing his small pile of dishes to a waiting maid and excusing himself. The title had never felt so harsh to the lady elf. Rhawlin flinched when she heard it in place of  _da'len_  and stifled a sigh. Not only that, but Cole was the last person she wanted to see. She abandoned the cleaning to the staff and settled back in her chair, taking a large sip of her cold tea with a grimace.

"So, Scarlet, you never answered my question." Varric took his own chair across from her and kicked his feet onto the now-cleared table. Dorian remained standing, although moved to settle to the dwarf's right.

"Did I not answer your question? Hmm. That's odd." She took another gulp.

"I know you came from that clan, but Leliana's report said that the Keeper and hunters her scouts talked to had the same accent as the other clans in the Free Marches. Where's your accent, or lackthereof, from?"

Rhawlin fidgeted, her eyes widening oh-so-slightly as her usually skilled hands allowed the cup to tip. Most people had been to polite to ask, or didn't bother to notice that she had a rather flat weight to her words. Grumbling, she grabbed a nearby cloth and cleaned the small spill she had made. "Not all Dalish have accents."

"Usually when they start out as city elves, though." Varric retorted, bringing his hands together in front of his face while his elbows rested on the arms of the chair. Rhawlin tossed the dirtied cloth onto the table and slumped back against her own chair, head rolling back while her hand idly traced her throat where her scarred vallaslin once was.

"Does it really matter?" She spoke after a moment, voice strained into a graveling tone by the arch of her throat.

Varric blinked, not bothering to hide his mild amazement at her avoidance. He took a long breath as he turned his gaze up to Dorian, who shrugged and stifled a small chuckle. Varric breathed out a sigh while turning his attention back to their leader, leaning forward.

"Not really," Varric shrugged, "But now you've got me curious. Look, Scarlet, if its too big of a deal then don't worry. But don't you think after as far as we've come and everything we've done that I, we-" her jerked his thumb towards Dorian, who dipped his head in acknowledgment. "-deserve to know? The Temple of Mythal was crazy. But then Solas takes you; Smiling, confident rogue-leader of the Inquisition, takes some colored lines from your face and..." He was shaking his head, searching. The Storyteller was at a loss for words. Dorian sighed and sunk into the closest chair.

Rhawlin straightened and looked between the two of them. Two of the very best friends she had ever had, with whom she could entrust her life. Yet they all had their secrets that would never be told, and Varric's persistent pushing on the subject bothered her. She hadn't noticed that she had begun to grind her teeth.

"It feels like you're not all there anymore. Without those marks, you're like some dwarven machine. No more feeling than Bianca." Varric finished his thought, finally settling on the right words. He muttered an apology to his beloved crossbow that occupied its own chair beside him, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Those tattoos, they must have meant a lot. What did you give up for Chuckles?" His voice had dwindled to a near-whisper, tinged with bitter wonder.

Rhawlin suddenly rose to her feet, pushing her chair back with an unsettling screech against the stone floor. She took a moment to push her frazzled bangs from her eyes and breathe, nose crinkled into a distressed snarl.

"Okay I want you two to meet me in my quarters after training today. Drop it until then and I'll.. I'll tell you what I can. As for training itself, I believe you have already received your orders." After giving the finishing staff quick thank-yous, she left the mess. The suddenness of it left the two men flabbergasted. After a small discussion, they agreed it was a better answer than nothing and left for their duties.

"Regretful. Humbled by juvenile obstinacy. Abolished beliefs, betrayed by familial bonds." Cole sighed from his position in the rafters above the mess where he had watched over the morning's scene. 


	2. The Way He Sees

After the confrontation in The Arbor Wilds, the entirety of The Inquisition prepared for their final bout against Corypheus. It meant learning a lot of different and confusing things, Cole came to learn. The Inquisitor had decreed additional training for every able member, from combat to survival, which included basics on cooking and sewing. Cullen had done surprisingly well with sewing, embarrassed though he was with Lavellan's praise and Iron Bull's teasing. Josephine, flustered with her rusty combat skills, trained daily with Sera for a week and a half.

Most of the group was there for their final sparring match to see Josephine feint and slide as Sera knelt for a shot. The result was a small blade pressed tightly against Sera's femoral artery while a drawn arrow pointed down at Josephine's face from between the elf's knees. Several of the attending circle and soldiers hooted, hollered and laughed, effectively breaking the ladies of their combat mind. With a blushing face, Josie had declared herself fit enough and resigned to her quarters. Since then her training consisted of focusing her skills to address less noble problems for the "little people".

However Cole had taken to avoiding the training times. Only recently had he begun to learn about and almost understand emotions and the social graces that people expected. On the first training day, the eerie lad worked in earnest with his companions, yet hadn't joined since. He found it so unsettling to compare himself to others, and too difficult to ignore the aching pride, envy, wrath of his friends.

To make it worse, The Inquisitor was doing well at avoiding him. Until Varric could take him aside and explain, he thought perhaps she had forgotten him. After he spoke about the pain she held during an excursion, Rhawlin simply stopped speaking to him. "..bare-faced, embarrassed.." She had, at the time, pushed for more answer vicariously even as Solas pressed for it to be dismissed. Yet, she had not offered Cole any more than passing greetings since. It was very bothersome.

From his shadowed perch on Skyhold's high walls, Cole watched Rhawlin as she had a small band of soldiers in some sort of combat training. Fifteen or so fighters circled her, taking quick turns assailing the elf, only to be skillfully and elegantly parried. To be fair, none of them had been thoroughly trained, but Cole could feel their defeat in their minds, shameful and angry. One of those minds assaulted the boy's otherwordly senses with intense guilt that stemmed from unimaginable lust.  _What an odd woman_ , he thought.

Lavellan did not stop her graceful barrage until she could no longer hear the hostile song of steel against her two defending blades. She paused, panting lightly as she surveyed the company of tired and brooding soldiers. "Eh? You were all doing so good!" Cole could barely hear Rhawlin's words, which were answered with a chorus of bittersweet groans and chortles, and made to carefully climb down the side of the wall.

"Don't get discouraged. You will need to know how to defend against skilled rogues." Their leader wiped beads of sweat from her brow as she spoke, careful as she held her blade. Again, the soldiers answered in grumpy unison.

"They do not believe they can best you-" Cole's gentle voice startled the elf as if it were a dragon's bellow. "-and that is bad, but can be good."

Slowly, dismayed, Lavellan turned her head only enough to glimpse the boy in her peripheral. He stood to her right and slightly behind her, shielding his eyes with his trademark hat. "Did you come to train, Cole? We've no time for chatter." She did not allow her commanding voice to falter to her anxiety. Those under her command began to raise their weapons and take offensive positions, preparing as their leader insinuated. To their quick response, she allowed herself a moment of pride; she hadn't even ordered them yet. Cole's continued presence terminated it quickly enough.

Cole was hardly one for formalities, of course, and all of the soldiers could  _see_ him. How to properly address a leader in front of her charges when even a simple conversation was still so confusing? He felt so incredibly disorganized. Talking to Lavellan usually made him happy, as it did with a number of his friends, and yet there were so many rules that restricted what they could talk about.

He shifted his weight to his other foot and took a breath, watching the Inquisitor move to match her soldiers' ready stances. His fingers curled around her wrist as she held up her dagger, cold against her warm red skin. Although, she noted it was not quite as cold as it used to be.

"She is beyond us, simple men and women. Agile elf, touched by the Golden City, she could never come to harm. Could she? No. Corypheus could never follow, never touch, never reach us. She will protect."

It had been days since Rhawlin had heard his faraway voice while he ogled a foreign mind. Allowing her hand to fall, she turned to face him with a less than friendly expression.

"I would not see them face Corypheus." She whispered in return. "Corypheus is not my fear for them. Red Templars, demons, powerful things.. they should learn, Cole."

"You  _will_  protect." Cole repeated, putting force into his words that caused Rhawlin to flinch away from him a bit. She had never heard the young man be anything other than politely blank wen it came to his readings. Realizing this pained her deeply. Had she missed him growing while she lost herself to her grief? Was he hurt enough to lash out, mild as it was? In her heart, she treasured Cole above many others after working with him, helping him adapt and learn, and harassing him lovingly with Varric on so many occasions.

The Inquisitor steeled her expression, even as she wept inwardly. Always be strong for the soldiers, Cullen had taught her. "Pair up! Sparring until you are relieved!" She bade her soldiers to continue, never looking from her compassionate friend.

"I cannot be a protector, Cole." Rhawlin spoke to Cole in a much softer tone, her features softened. The change made Cole blink, slightly confused. "I am a hunter, a craftsman. A weapon. Hell, until recently I might've actually been  _owned_." A small, bitter chuckle. "We don't know how this will happen, and I don't know if I will be able to save any of them, and certainly not all of them."

"They know the stakes. But they believe in your relief. It helps them not to be so afraid." Cole looked away from Rhawlin, instead peering at the clashing soldiers with distant eyes. He suddenly understood Varric's worried thoughts, agreeing that their leader's demeanor was incredibly unsettling. Lavellan had always been witty and encouraging, certain in the decisions she made. Her mind was so bright with constrained magic, so hard to decipher past blinding noise. It was so dim in the shadow of her heartache the day she returned to Skyhold without the gold trimmings on her face and throat.

He shifted uncomfortably, bothered by the nature of his spirit and his inability to help, then and now. Instead, he tried his best to push the issue to the side and instead focus on the waning faith and bravery of many of the soldiers.

Rhawlin had remained silent, considering Cole's words with a bitter heart. They believe, well wasn't that dandy? And yet he reminded her of her binding title, echoing advice from some of her advisers; regardless of her own beliefs, she was the Herald of Andraste. The Last, Greatest Hope for Thedas. And whether or not she wanted others to believe, so many saw her as some divine thing. Divine things should be capable of divine protection, right?

Frustrated grumbling, nearly a growl, reverberated from Rhawlin's throat. Cole shifted anxiously at the sound and the pressure of emotions behind it.

"I understand that people need something to believe in, and belief is strong. But how can I possibly say I am some divine protector? How could I compare myself to Andraste?" She asked.

Cole looked down for a moment, kicking at the ground as he thought on how to answer. "Do you think Andraste asked how she could compare herself to the Maker?"

The Inquisitor's eyes narrowed some as she let the response sink in. It was hard to imagine Andraste overwhelmed with politics, juggling strength with tactic on such a large scale, or burying heartache over a lost love while burying a blade in her enemies. Would they sing stories of her as they do Andraste? The sudden realism of it all made her feel incredibly dizzy, another thing to bury under a leader's veneer.

"I am loathe to enforce any idea of my holiness.. However I can't pretend you aren't making sense. Could we simply ignore it and let the rumors fly?" the elf asked, obvious weariness in her voice.

"It would be better than denying it. But not as much as they want." Cole watched the Inquisitor with a careful gaze, an animal watching another that could attack if goaded. It was far more difficult to read minds since his sudden development, but now he could tell by their faces, voices, body when they might need his help. And as he watched a flicker of uncertainty and anguish pierce her polite, noble mask of arrogance, so perfected in dealings with Josephine and the nobility, he was sure she needed help.

He was careful with his prodding of her mind, knowing that too much would cause him to speak out of turn. Wavering lights of too bright and drowning shadows of her emotions guided the tendrils of his inert magic. It snaked around the fluctuation of the magic of her Mark, seeking the nest of chaos and woe she worked so tirelessly to bury. He found it, curling the strands of his magic around it in a gentle grasp and coaxing it to come into his understanding. Rhawlin's despair and Cole's pursuit met and mingled in her mind or maybe his, and he could see it.

_No one for me, and me for no one. Nothing to believe until he sees me. Little Arrow, he called me, Da'assan, and he taught me to believe. I believed. Lavellan told me I was wrong, he taught me wrong. They beat it out of me, and made me dance to the Creators. I believed. The fade is a nightmare, and I am lost, and she is pulling me free. Andraste? The Maker? Do I believe? He tells me the fade is not so scary, he tells me stories, he explains why the elves are wrong. How do I believe? Because he does, and he is my most trusted. He shows me one more thing my people did wrong, and I believe. And he takes them. And he takes my heart. And he takes my belief, him and all the others. What should I believe, if nothing is true?_

"...and what they want shouldn't really be a priority when they could be dead soon." Rhawlin's voice interrupted her thoughts to Cole. It had been only a couple seconds, although he had felt years of indecision on her mind. Suddenly he was gone from her mind, staring her in the face while she scowled.

"Only the truth knows what is true. But you can help what is  _real._  Corypheus is  _real_. The Rift is  _real_. The soldiers are  _really_  scared. You can help, and I will help you." Cole spoke, a tint of blush coloring his pale cheeks in response to Rhawlin's dawning look of disapproval for his rummaging. His ability to know of her shortcomings, and his inclination towards announcing them, was exactly the reason she had avoided him.

Her chest heaved with a large sigh, hands taking perch on her hips. The Inquisitor was thoughtful for only a moment before speaking. "Okay. I think this is too large of a problem for the two of us to solve on our own. Go to my advisers and tell them that the beliefs and morale of our soldiers should be boosted. And quickly. We might not have much time.."

Visibly relaxing, the slightest of smiles shone like a beacon on the boy's face. He nodded, turning away from her to carry out the order. But he stopped, silent for a moment, and turned back to face her.

"Rhawlin.." Cole spoke, tone unsure. "I am sorry. Varric told me I made you hurt more so you couldn't be around me. I don't understand completely, but... I am sorry. And thank you."

Guilt overwhelmed the elf, fogging her mind to everything but the ache in her friend's voice. Her eyes slid closed as she took the half step to draw him into her arms. The embrace was gentle; although heads taller than her, Rhawlin held Cole as if he were a precious babe. The soldiers, distracted from their training, watched in a respectful silence.

"Cole, you did not harm me. I'm so sorry I have avoided you, da'len. With Solas and my vallaslin and.. we have too much to do for my mind to linger on questions that will get no answers." Her words ended on a whisper, ground down from her frustration.

The compassionate lad could feel her guilt, strong enough to stand out against the light just beyond his senses. Slowly his own arms raised to encircle his leader, awkward and rigid. Was he doing it right? It felt warm and happy, so perhaps? He enjoyed it, even as he trembled with nerves he didn't understand.

"We accidentally hurt each other. And now we will learn." Cole spoke softly, and she nodded. They broke their hug with the Inquisitor's awkward chuckle.

"Go on then, speak to the advisers and return to me this evening. We'll try to get some ideas worked out before we have a meeting about it."

Cole nodded, pleased, and bounded away. Rhawlin relieved her soldiers after reprimanding their being distracted with her matters and took a small break, readying for the next wave of trainees. Solas, silent and hidden in the shadows of one of the wall's towers between his and Cullen's quarters, watched them with a snarl contorting his face feral.


	3. What To Beleive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, in between major parts.

Lavellan saw to three more groups of soldiers' defensive training, ending for the day when an older veteran finally landed a blow, and she had knocked him onto his arse. He apologized profusely as she tended to the shallow slice down her right cheek and chin. She would laugh and reassure the lot of them all that even leaders can bleed. It seemed to ease their fright somewhat.

"You're the first one to get me today, though." She addressed the veteran, who went by Bartley. "Allow me to buy you a drink tonight, soldier. You deserve it." Bartley grinned, crinkling wise eyes and lifting his scarred expression. With her dismissal, thr group left her, chattering and clamoring around their victorious brother. She watched them depart, bloodied cloth to her cheek and a smile on hre lips.

"Are you okay? Should I send for a healer?" Cullen's question was expected. His presence at training became more frequent as his duties became eased. The Commander had been against her taking a position coaching the soldiers at first, insisting her role was above it. Rhawlin argued, couldn't they use her experience? Especially since she had grown within the Inquisition. The trickster elf eventually relinquished the argument, allowing Cullen to believe she had heeded him. He watched bitterly when she began training soldiers the very next day, unwilling to address her in a less-than-positive way around the soldiers.

"Nah," The Inquisitor answered, peeling away the cloth and inspecting the trivial amount of blood. "I'll have a poultice when I get back to my quarters. Which is my next stop." She added the last bit when Cullen grimaced. However, he did not argue any further, knowing the woman would have her way regardless.

"Very well. I wanted to talk to you about something." Annoyance tinged his words. Rhawlin looked at him, quirking a brow and waiting to hear his issue. "Allow me to start by saying that training seems to be going very well."

"Well, you've got some great soldiers, Commander."

Cullen lifted his chin, smiling. Complimenting his army always seemed to do the trick for his mood and often helped her survive their conversations. They were very different, indeed.

"Yes we do, however-" His smile slipped and Rhawlin grunted faintly, annoyed, and started towards the staircase that lead to the Keep, motioning for him to follow. "However, Cole told me about stoking their faith in you. I am not sure about promising the Maker's protection."

"I never said the Maker would protect them." Rhawlin continued up the steps, already tired of the argument that had barely begun.

"That's true. You said that you would protect them."

"So what's the problem?"

"You're the Herald of Andraste. Yours is the Maker's protection. And we know the truth behind that, they do not."

They stopped on the small platform between flights of steps, Rhawlin turning to face him with a glare.

"The fact that I am elvhen is not lost on them, Commander. I hear them use their slurs still, even as they expect me to save them and their world. Likely, half of them will scoff at my promise, which I have yet to make, to avoid even the possibility of being touched by the Pantheon." She turned without waiting for his response, continuing up the stairs with increasing exhaustion.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Cullen decided it better to silence the argument while Lavellan stopped to greet the saluting soldiers as she always did. Cautious of being heard, they headed through the front door to behold the Throne Room.

Much to her surprise, the Throne Room was mostly empty. A few nobles stood in a semi-circle, speaking of trade routes and gold fluctuations. Rhawlin sat on a stone bench in the tiny foyer, confident it was far enough away that the nobility wouldn't overhear.

"They are scared, Cullen. Aren't you? I am. I know I cannot be in all places, to save my soldiers and slay Corypheus. I know too many people have died, will die."

Again, silence, as Cullen stood towering over her with his arms crossed over his chest. It stretched out for a couple minutes, out of respect for those mentioned and then for lack of answers. Tense and struggling, they eventually met each other's gaze.

"I did not mean to harass you, Inquisitor. So many have lost faith for this war and the Breach. In the Chantry, the templars, the Maker." Cullen spoke softly, and Rhawlin mentally snorted at how he had no idea how right he was. "I'm wary of pushing them any further. Especially if that means that they might lose faith in you, and your Inquisition."

His solemn words pulled upon her mind, where Cole's head pulled upon her heart. It was impossible to accept one over the other, yet unacceptable to be without an answer. To protect their faith in lou of their spirit, or bolster it recklessly in a gamble of belief? It seemed an obvious choice, but she could only hesitate and wonder which one it was that seemed so obvious.

"I would like you to send some messages for me, please. We need to have a meeting and talk this out. I was hoping it could wait a few more days but.. obviously this issue is bigger than I understand." Rhawlin sighed. Cullen nodded, waiting for the list of names to address messages to. "Send them to Leliana, Josephine, Cole-" Cullen raised a brow. "-Iron Bull-" He frowned a bit. "-and Alistair. Inform them to clear plans for after breakfast tomorrow, and to meet at the war table. We will find some way to protect our people's spirits without pressuring them. I wouldn't want to be a false deity anyway. Thank you, Cullen." She finished, dismissing him with a small wave of her hand.

"As you will. Thank you, Inquisitor." As he walked towards Josephine's office, Cullen prayed that she had actually listened this time.

Annoyed, mind cluttered and cheek stinging, Rhawlin rose to her feet and started towards the door that lead to her quarters. Inquisitor courtesy compelled her to greet the jabbering nobles, politely engaging them for a few minutes. She noticed they stood awfully close to her throne. Ah, nobles. With her necessary pleasantries finished, she excused herself and approached it.

Rhawlin had decided on the Orlesian throne after they returned from the Winter Palace. So many tricky things behind such beauty. Of the accomplishments that had brought her into this power, saving an empire with her mind and tricks had been the most gratifying to her. Memories of that adventure, ghosts of thrills, would grace her when she took her place on it. It inspired her to act in her court as she did back then; passionate, clever and a little bit wicked.

Touching the back of the shapely woman that made of the right arm rest, the elf remembered finding Briala's agent. Running her palm up the curving pattern of the back, she felt the sharp horns of the blasted halla statues, graceful and sharp enough to pierce. Fingertips traced the long, curling edge of the back to its point while she admired the swirling ends, grinning at the memory of opening Celene's bedchamber. Gaspard's mercenary, collecting secrets, Morrigan's help, and a trio of powerful people who lost at their own game and forced to act under the influence of the Inquisition. Well, four, if you counted the Inquisitor's jester. Where was the Duchess anyway?

Wings that looked like they could take her, fly her away from it all, mounted on the shoulders of a shining woman that topped her throne. Gliding, uncaring for the world, celebrating for once.

Rhawlin whispered her memory, eyes half-lidded. "Just like when we danced tog-"

"Inquisitor?"

Blinking awake from her dreamy state, she found herself kneeling in front of her own throne. Arms hanging loose, shoulders slumped, a look of lulling sadness. The Inquisitor came to her senses slowly, reluctant to let go. "Hmm..?"

"Come on, sweeite. You need to fix that pretty face." Dorian reached for her, the slight touch on her shoulder bringing back the rest of her mind.

"Oh, sorry, Dorian. I really like the curvy women on my throne." Rhawlin grinned through her slight fib, happy to see her friend regardless.

"Mmhmm.." He spun her towards the door to her quarters, patting her back as he lead her up the stairs.


	4. An Unusual Start

"Where's Varric?" It was rather hard to understand the Inquisitor while Dorian held her face still, applying a potent poultice to her small wound. He bent over her while she sat on her bed, face angled up high to give him a good view.

"On his way. Cole needed his help. I understand you stopped acting so frosty towards him? Good, I didn't want to have to burn you."

Rhawlin would have laughed if Dorian wasn't squeezing her cheeks into her lips. Instead, her mouth flapped and she spat a bit, thankfully avoiding the mage's face.

He chuckled, releasing her and replacing the top to the poultice bottle.

"Yes, I know I was an ice queen. Don't tell Vivienne." They both laughed, comfortable in each others presence. Dorian and Varric made things feel so much better about so many things, just by being by her side and she was never too proud to accept their solace. Dorian traced the edge of her wound were the red goo had smeared, delicate, before moving away from her to sit at her desk.

"So, how'd you know I got wounded? And why such a special poultice? I have about four in my desk drawer." Rhawlin filled the silence, drawing in her feet to sit cross-legged on the comforter.

"Well, the poultice is to  _ensure_  no scarring. Not a good look, although Cassandra seems to pull it off." He seemed to disappear into his head for a moment, considering something to do with scars. "Ah, I was on my way to meet you. Cullen was afraid to leave you, all dumb-founded with your  _naked throne_. He made me  _promise_  to make sure you were tended to.  _Such_  a  _dramatic_  man!" Jabbering and curious, he picked up an open book and began reading where she had left off.

Lavellan mentally kicked herself. How could she have allowed herself to wallow in the past? In the middle of her throne room no less. Groaning, she hunched forward with her elbows on her knees and watched the mark flicker eerie green in the dimness of her room.

"What exactly are you reading here, dear girl?" Dorian asked, looking up from the tattered pages that were worn with heavy use. Rhawlin's nose scrunched as she fought to remember, recalling the order of the many books she'd been reading in the past month.

"Ahhhmmnn.. Pursuit of Knowledge? The Genitivi one."

"Yes, but you've got some of the pages marked. The Emerald Knights? Elven guards?" Dorian scanned through the next page quickly, searching for key words. "Wolves?"

A light blush turned Lavellan's red skin almost purple, embarrassed at how silly her research seemed compared to his. He was tracing Corypheus' lineage and looking for creative ways to take him down, and she was still looking for some piece of truth or comfort from the beliefs she'd been taught.

"Ah yes. When we were in the Emerald Graves, there were  _so many_  of the wolf statues. I thought I would look into them a bit."

Dorian blinked up from the page and looked at the elf, head tilting a bit to the side. She was idly tracing the Mark with her other hand, watching the way the glow would shift. "Did your Keeper not tell you about them?"

"Umm.." Rhawlin stammered, looking up from her Mark to meet his challenging gaze. Yes, Keeper Deshanna should have told her more of her own people but even the kindness of the Keeper had its limits when dealing with the mutt. There was no simply way to answer Dorian. It was better to wait for the both of them, rather than try to explain the various twists and turns that had shaped her.

She was saved by the pounding on the door right down the stairs. She started to stand, but was waved down by Dorian who stood and headed down the stone steps to answer. Varric's laughter echoed up to fill her space, and she smiled. The two of them rejoined her quickly, exchanging teasing greetings as they always did. Varric did not waste time.

"Nice to see you, Scarlet. Now-" Varric grinned as he pulled a stack of papers from the bag strapped across his chest, moving to take Dorian's seat at her desk. He took the quill Rhawlin used, dipped it in her ink, and readied his hand. "-Who is Rhawlin Lavellan?"

The elf chuckled softly, far less distressed by the topic in the comfort of her quarters and the selected company. Still, it would be hard to explain, and she didn't completely remember it all. Nervously, she began to run her fingers through her mussy hair, as close as she'd get to trying to keep it in check. The light of her hand dimmed in the waves of russet, setting off an odd orange glow.

"Where to start.. I came from an alienage in Val Royeaux." She paused, waiting for harsh reactions. When nothing but Varric's light scribbling sounded, she continued. "I was still really young, its hard to remember. I don't think I ever had a family, but I remember the old woman who took care of me until she died. When she did, other elves took her home and they put me outside. I was.. four I think. But this one man.. sometimes he was there and sometimes he wasn't. He didn't care that I looked odd, and he fed me when he was there. He taught me to sneak, steal and trick so I could eat when he was gone. He taught me some elvhen stories, saying I should know who to hold responsible for life.

The story of the Slow Arrow was the first story he told me, and the one he told me the most. Essentially, the elven god Fen'Harel came upon a village that was plagued by a great beast, and they begged him kill it. He went to it at dawn, and knew he would die if he tried to battle it. Instead, he shot a single arrow into the sky. The villagers asked how he would save them and he said, 'When did I say I would save you?'- I always thought that was mean – The beast came at night, killed everyone but the children. When he went to attack them, Fen'Harel's arrow fell into his open gullet, slaying him before he could kill the kids. It took a couple years before I really understood. The Dread Wolf, he did what he could, saved who he could, knowing that trying to save them all would end them all. And those he did save, he saved with cunning, not strength." Rhawlin paused, listening to The Storyteller's now frantic scrawling, and sighed. She would have to make sure he didn't make this into a book.

"He raised me for the first part of my life, that odd man. He gave me a birthday when I couldn't remember mine. He was so...  _nice_. I don't think I have ever known a nicer elf. Always smiling and making jokes. Always teaching me how to use my mind like Fen'Harel. I was in the alienage until I was around nine, while he raised me five or six times a year, for a week or so at a time. He didn't have an accent either. I think I used to, but I wanted to be like him. I don't think I ever knew his name, but I called him Fera. He had beautiful purple eyes.."

"I have a question." Dorian's voice pulled her from the struggle to recollect her memories, and she noticed he had moved to sit on the foot of her bed while she was speaking. Her pause was answer enough for him to continue. "What about the rest of the Pantheon? The Creators and The Forgotten Ones?"

"Ah, I asked him that once. A number of stories about Fen'Harel involved the other gods. He told me how Fen'Harel trapped them all away to stop the war, and only he was left, and only he had a chance to hear our prayers. I learned about the rest of the Pantheon when I went to the clan."

"And when did you go to the clan?" Varric then, never lifting his gaze from his mess of paper.

"Gosh, Varric, are you writing my memoir? As I said, I left the alienage at nine. There was unrest in Orlais, and Fera told me that I should go. He put me on a carriage with a bag of bread and dried meat and said, one day everything will be clear and I will be the only one who understands."

For several moments the only sound was from Varric, Lavellan losing herself to memories she'd abandoned after she'd gotten her vallaslin. It had been a long time since she remembered the violet-eyed elf who had cared for her, his lessons and her unending questions. How he had taught her to trap the mean-spirited kids in the alienage who would beat her for her differences, or frame them for some of the petty crimes she had committed for her survival. Or to believe in the Dread Wolf, because he was all that was left. Eventually Dorian cleared his throat, causing Varric to lift a surprised face from his work.

"What exactly are you going to do with all this information, Varric?" Dorian asked, leaning back into Rhawlin's bed with his hands braced behind him.

"Oh, nothing in particular. Its just always good to have. But now, the serious part." The dwarf pushed himself to his feet, leaving his papers to dry on her desk. Soon, the three of them sat on her over-sized bed, Dorian at the foot of the bed and Varric and Lavellan sitting on the side. "What happened that has got you so messed up lately? I know you and Solas-"

"Ugh, please, no. I don't want to have this talk." Rhawlin groaned, flinging back her body across the width of her bed. Her marked hand flung to drape her arm across her pillows, her hair falling over the other edge in tangled waves. The dwarf laughed as he turned his head to look at her.

"Relax. I know the affection of one elf isn't going to ruin you. But the timing is odd." Varric turned his body, moving his thigh onto the bed to watch her more comfortably. Dorian mimicked her, although carefully as not to hit her, to lay down with his head only a few inches from her right cheek.

Varric watched them both for a moment in silence. How stressful it was to have friends. He sighed, turned his back to them, and let himself fall into the plush of the Inquisitor's bed. They lay there on her covers, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for.. something. Rhawlin's voice came as a whisper, although perfectly audible in the quiet.

"Whenever I give my heart into believing something, the world tells me I'm wrong. Fera told me to pray to Fen'Harel, the Dalish told me that was wrong. The Dalish demanded me commit my heart and blood to worship the creators, Andrastians tell me I am wrong. Andrastians told me to believe it was Andraste who saved me, who made me holy. She didn't. I'm not. They were wrong. Solas.. I believed in him, and he destroyed my view of my people. I accepted this willingly. I want to know the truth, after all. But he called me his heart, puh, I believed that too... Maybe I'm simply jaded, and maybe there is something bigger that chose me for this.. but learning that something so.. so  _true_ as the meaning of the vallaslin is actually completely _wrong_ , so very  _untrue,_ and everything is so uncertain.. the Qun almost looks nice.."

"Yeah, okay, time to drink." Varric swept his legs, using momentum to help him sit up. He grabbed her hand and tugged as he moved, pulling her reluctantly to her feet while she sighed. Dorian wrapped his arm around her shoulder, suddenly at her side, and squeezed lovingly.

"I agree. Its been too long, and you owe a soldier." Dorian grinned and guided her towards the door for a second time, followed by Varric after he took a moment to collect his notes on the Inquisitor.

Morrigan yawned quietly as the flickering veilfire in her torchlamp cast dancing shadows against the pile of books ahead of her. The library had been empty for most of the day, due in no small part to the Inquisitor's enforced training. The other part might have had something to do with the dirty looks she'd give to those who got too close to her. Yet she had accomplished much in the day's time towards sorting and organizing the flow of otherworldly voices that clogged her head. It was getting easier, though not in the way she'd hoped. Of course the voices had already told her she could not undo the promise she'd made, not yet anyway.

Solas' quiet approach did not surprise her, a small rustling in the back of her mind muttering awareness of his coming. The witch sighed dramatically, setting down her book with a thump.

"What do you need, Fadewalker?"

"I was content to read while most of the clamor is away. You drive them away in droves. However if you're uncomfortable with my presence I will simply pick a book and go." Solas spoke in his usual polite, enlightened inflection. Morrigan waved her hand in dismissal, returning her gaze to her book. He nodded once, regardless of whether or not she could see it, and continued passed the table she was sitting at to the shelves on the other side.

Solas stood for several long moments, one arm crossing his chest to hold the other elbow, other hand gripping his chin in speculation. Every couple minutes he would shift his weight, shuffling his clothes, and sigh softly. Morrigan knew he did this to bother her, polite revenge for her impolite attitude. Finally he picked a book from the shelf, looked at it for a moment, and slid it back onto the shelf.

"Ugh! You have some nerve, creature." Morrigan shouted, slamming the book down against its spine and bracing her hands against the table. He chuckled, a dark and pleased tone that the elf didn't usually take.

"Creature? Says the witch with a thousand voices in her head." Solas spoke without looking up from the shelves.

"Be silent. These voices know of you, but say little I can understand. Whatever you are, it is not who you say. I pity the Inquisitor who laments over a lying dolt."

Solas turned his head to look at her, eyes narrowed into a glare that might scare a normal man. Without looking back, he grabbed the book that was his actual choice and took two long strides towards the witch.

"Do not speak to me of the Inquisitor. Do not speak to me of lies. In fact, do no speak to me at all!" His edged voice was soft, but colder than the ice that covered Skyhold. The witch flinched, not out of fear but of surprise. As he began to walk towards the staircase to his space, his back to her, she growled out.

"Your lies will destroy the Inquisitor, and her army. I respect Lavellan, and would truly hate to see her succumb to the despair you've inflicted on her heart and her spirit. I should hope even you would consider the gravity of your choices."

Solas did not respond, but his mind did falter. He had always believed Rhawlin would be strong enough to overcome the sorrow from their ended romance, that her heart would survive and she would love someone the way only she could. Her spirit? Had he truly not considered her spirit, already strained from his nitpicking her beliefs? He continued down the stairs, shaking his head, reasoning to himself that surely his mortal love would hold herself together.


	5. Spirits of Insight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There be drinkin' in this chapter.

Being in the tavern typically made Lavellan at least a little nervous. Up until joining the Inquisition, she had never been inside such a place; Keeper Deshanna rarely sent her for missions into town for the sake of the clan's reputation. The air was warm and stale, the scent of alcohol, pipeweed, sweat and what she was certain was vomit, ever present. Sounds shifted from detached murmurs to crushing waves, vibrating roars of laughter and happiness. Bodies moved with various energy, mostly drunken and stumbling. All of these sensations were new enough, and her lack of knowledge made her uncomfortable. Spending so many days with her companions helped her adjust a tremendous amount, but simply being there still made her uneasy.

But that uneasiness was three flagons ago. Two flagons ago, Rhawlin saluted to Bartley and ended up buying a round for the whole tavern and three for the veteran. One flagon ago, Dorian's guidance and quick action barely spared her a smack into the tavern's bar while she drunkenly stumbled up for her fourth. Now nursing that fourth, she sat at a large table with four of her companions, none of whom were nearly as far gone as she.

"...So what you're saying is, because Solas told you the truth about your vallis-valle-.. tattoos, that you just can't believe in anything? And, um, the soldiers think you're holy and you don't wanna say they're wrong?" Iron Bull was a close second to Rhawlin's intoxication. The elven girl sneered, twisting her face as she slowly shook her head from side to side.

"Nononono no.. no Iron Bull. Buuullll- I just can't.. I can't just pretend that its real when there's nooo proof. How, um, how.. how do you?" She had stretched out onto the table, holding her cup with both hands and laying her head against the cool of the finished wood.

"That's.. that's just too much to explain. It is to be. Ask me tomorrow." He laughed, carefully taking the flagon from Rhawlin's gentle grasp from his spot opposite her and swigging about half of it.

"Faith is believing when there is no proof." Cassandra had joined them after seeking out the Inquisitor for more official issues, and she had not had a drop. Even in her numbed state, Rhawlin noticed and was thankful for the Seeker's patience with not only her state, but her struggle. It was surprising, and she appreciated her so much for it.

"I know tha's what its s'posed to be. But I believed and got it  _so wrong_. And  _so_  many times." The elf stumbled, reaching weakly out for her drink that Iron Bull kept just out of her grasp.

"Perhaps you should think about the things you were not wrong about. It was not Andraste that delivered you from the Fade, but does that mean Andraste or the Maker are not watching over you?"

"Proof by lack of evidence isn't what she's looking for." Dorian sat to The Inquisitor's right, drinking from a near-empty bottle of wine. "But unless something amazing or incredibly stupid happens, she won't get any actual answers. Oh, sweetie, stop-" The mage pulled their leader back down to her seat as she started to climb onto the table, intent in reclaiming her drink. She whined in protest.

"Well, were the elven gods not real? The Temple of Mythal seemed real enough." Varric looked up from Lavellan's left, eyes heavy with drink and exhaustion.

"Oh, shite, I don't know. Maybe they were once but if there are any now, s'only the Trickster. The Well mighta just been a shitton of magic." A sigh passed the elf's lips as she finished the thought, her entire frame swaying in stupor. Cassandra shifted uncomfortably, feeling a bit challenged by the discussion. To her, there was only the Maker and his Bride. She couldn't understand how anyone could not believe, but she had known all along that Lavellan didn't. It hadn't stopped her from becoming a good friend however it did pain her that their well-loved leader struggled where she had so much certainty.

"I.. I would not push the Maker on you, Inquisitor. But I will say that I find comfort in my belief. So believe in.. whatever makes you comfortable." None of the group expected such kind words. They stared at the Seeker with gaping mouths, curved into open smiles. Varric and Rhawlin blushed while Iron Bull began to laugh gleefully. "What? What!?" she demanded

The Bull slammed Rhawlin's drink onto the wood, laughter renewed as the tremor caused Varric's mug to spill across the table and into Cassandra's lap. Rhawlin was willing to bet that no one had ever heard a woman roar as Cassandra had just then. Silence took the tavern for a moment, all eyes turning towards the rowdy group. Iron Bull echoed her, shouting a war cry into the pub and rousing the patrons into a loud battle song. Rhawlin, Varric and Dorian howled with laughter and the Seeker fumed, furious that the qunari had spilled on her twice in one day. Cleaning the spill and pulling her into a group of singing soldiers helped her to completely forget the incident.

For the next few hours, the Inquisitor and her friends drank and sang and danced with their soldiers. Sera joined from the room "where stuff went", by her words, and made a ton of fun for herself by sneaking through and pinching random rear ends. There were two slapped faces, three thrown drinks and Krem got quite a kiss from one of the lovely young wenches. Vivienne made an appearance, if only to "See what all the fuss was about". She had some of Dorian's wine and they talked for a little while before she left.

As Dorian and Cassandra collected their drunkard of an Inquisitor and escorted her out, they wouldn't have dreamed of what a journey it would be from the tavern's front door to the Inquisitor's bed.

First there was Blackwall, drinking from his own bottle and sitting against the side of the soldier's commons. He lifted the bottle in a greeting towards the three of them, which was more than most had seen of him lately. Cassandra grunted, making a  _disgusted noise_  as she turned her head away from him. Dorian nodded politely, while Rhawlin jumped, waving enthusiastically and speaking just a tad too loud for the quiet of the night.

"Have a good night! Be a good man!" She thought Blackwall might have smiled at that, but her handlers hurried her along before she could study him enough to be sure.

Perhaps they moved her too quickly, or maybe it was the shock and alcohol, but the second and third problems occurred in nearly complete unison. As Solas stepped into the light from the torch over The Herald's Rest's door, Rhawlin tripped over seemingly nothing. Cassandra immediately regretted moving her attention away in her anger, because she was not prepared. The red elf's wrist jerked down with gravity, yanking itself from Cassandra's hold. Her body weight fell sideways, swinging on Dorian's grip to slam her face, chest and stomach into his thighs and knees, which tripped him. He tumbled over her with a curse, landing on his hands and avoiding putting his weight down on the elf girl beneath him. He scrambled away from her as soon as he was able, allowing Solas to move in with glowing hands, prepared to heal.

Solas' brow knitted in concern as he heard gentle noises sound from the crumbled Inquisitor. Cassandra moved in closer, her face contorted with shame and worry. But Dorian started giggling.

And they realized that Rhawlin was giggling.

"Did you SEE that!? WOAH." Graceful as a drunken rogue can be, she rolled onto her feet. After a moment she tasted salt and felt warmth trickling from her nose.

"Are you okay, Inquisitor?" Solas' tone reflected the concern he still had, watching the blood flow from her nose and down the line of her lips to drain from the corners of her mouth. She seemed completely unphased by this, but he made note that she smelled highly of spirits.

"Why yes I am, Ser Elven Adviser, Ser." Solas frowned a bit and she laughed, baring teeth stained red and pink with her own blood. After a sharp inhale of the coppery stuff, she coughed and finally spat out as much as she could. "I am a godless heretic! In FACT, Ser Elven Advisor, I am WONDERFUL."

"I am.. glad to hear it." Solas spoke, hiding his true thoughts as he almost always did. He looked between Dorian and Cassandra, both watching him defensively. Dorian was favoring one of his legs, which was difficult in his slightly intoxicated state, not nearly as numb to the pain of their little mishap.

"And you, Dorian? Are you well?" Solas asked him, hesitant. None of the companions had taken sides when Solas had left Rhawlin, nor would either party have wanted them too. They all still depended on each other while in the thick of it, and all of them knew muddying their bonds would just make everything, including the Inquisitor's guilt, quite a bit worse. Yet many of them made efforts not to start conversations if both elves were present, Dorian being an exception. In fact, it seemed Dorian was going to longer lengths to ensure not much changed. He would talk to both of them about varying things as they traveled, snarky as he ever was. It made his current expression all the more harsh; he glared at Solas as if he were an evil beast prepared to eat the princess.

"A sprained knee, if that. I will need a healer or it will take days before I'm travel-ready again." Dorian allowed his eyes to narrow a bit farther, settled on Solas. "Cassandra, I hope you can keep Rhawlin in your grasp long enough to get her to her bed?" The Seeker might have argued, defensive in her wounded pride, but even she noticed the sternness in Dorian's expression and simply gripped the drunken elf's shoulders to urge her on.

"Wha-? Pffft.. Solas you better- you better- you make him feel better!" Rhawlin stuck out the tip of her tongue, scrunching her face as she watched Solas become smaller while Cassandra moved her away.

Solas watched the Inquisitor, dismayed with her behavior and the very idea that Morrigan might be right. Dorian swung his arm around the fadewalker's neck while he was distracted, dropping some of his weight on the other mage and forcing a grunt from him.

"How lucky I am that such a skilled healer is still awake  _and_  just happens to be here. Help me to the solder's quarters won't you?"

Solas nodded and began to hobble himself and the other man towards the building where Blackwall had pulled himself to his feet, silent. The two of them allowed the faux-warden to help ease the burden as they moved to place the necromancer in a chair near the requisition table. Still in silence, the elf went to work, forcing Dorian's knee straight while magic rode his hands. He could feel that the damage was mild, muscle irritation at best, and looked up at Dorian with one brow raised in question.

"Blackwall, would you mind fetching Iron Bull? I think I'll need help getting up all the steps to the keep." Dorian asked the warrior, never looking from Solas' face.

"I'm sure that Solas and I could-"

"No, he's right. Better that Iron Bull carry him easily than the three of us try to hobble up the stairs." Solas interrupted. Blackwall looked between them for a moment before turning away, leaving them with a small trot towards the tavern.

Two mages sat in tense, aggressive quiet while the elf continued to needlessly pour energy into the other's knee. For all his wisdom, he could not imagine what Dorian might be feeling now that he hadn't in the weeks since he broke it off with Rhawlin. Dorian's normal attitude was one of the few comforts Solas looked forward to, as if not everything was as distressing as it seemed with the strain of his lost love on his heart.

"Look, Solas-" Dorian sighed, pulling his leg in to bend at his less-than-damaged knee and sitting up straight. "The way you left Rhawlin was.. well it was shite."

Solas let his hands fall to his sides as he stood up, defiant shadows darkening his face while he looked down at Dorian. "I did not think it was wise for us to continue being romantic." The elf's voice was stern and bothered, let down by his friend's seemingly indifferent attitude towards what he wanted.

"That's fine, Solas. No one should have to be with someone they don't want to-" Dorian responded and Solas' expression softened sadly, not only at his own wrong assumption but at the idea that he didn't want to be with Rhawlin. "-but the state in which you left her was pretty awful. You talked her into giving up a lot of things and then left without replacing what was lost. Rhawlin knows from you that her people were wrong, that they've believed wrong. The least you could have done is leave her with something true, because now she can't trust anything. Not her beliefs, her people or even her heart." The Tevinter man rose to his feet, stretching out his hips and his healed knee with a long, labored groan. "I'm just saying, you've started a very large problem that is affecting everyone in Skyhold. Her soldiers need her guidance, her advisers need her decisions and her friends need her happy."

Solas' defensive stature melted into one of guilt. His shoulders slumped and his head fell forward, eyes closed while he lost himself to thought. All along he had assumed that Lavellan would only benefit from his rebutting the Dalish stories. She had proven to be wise beyond her years, thirsty for knowledge and the truth. Only now that its repercussions were surfacing did he see the error of his ways. To leave her faithless, with no real way to pursue the truth of it all must have been hell on her inquisitive nature.

"What should I do, then? It would not surprise me if the Inquisitor refused my guidance now, after all I've put her through." Telling her the complete truth was out of the question and unease at her discovering it on her own made him feel trapped.

"Perhaps you can start off by  _talking_  to her every once in a while. You were the last thing she believed in." Dorian stood and Solas did not move sans lifting his head to peek at the other man's expression. It forced their bodies only a few inches apart and the human craned his neck to look down into the eyes of the elf. "Do something, Solas. The Inquisition is a'buzz with uncertainty and she's always been the anchor to hold us strong."

Iron Bull's loud complaints could be heard as soon as the tavern's door opened. Apparently he had been in the middle of some drinking contest. Dorian stepped to the side and away from the elf, who shifted his body to ensure they did not bump. Violence is not what the two of them were pursuing, and neither would give room for their heated argument to go that far.

"I do not know where to start, but I will think on this." Solas spoke in a quiet tone, wary of the two approaching warriors. Although if Dorian came to him with such intimate knowledge, Varric was sure to know, Cole would pick it up; he cursed to himself realizing how quickly this could root into the Inquisition and the gravity of Rhawlin's despair.

Dorian nodded to the elf as Blackwall and Iron Bull returned. With gentleness that Dorian recognized as something typically reserved for the bedroom, Iron Bull swept him into his arms and cradled him to his chest. Blush rose to color his cheeks, but the look he gave the qunari was annoyed.

"You're so drunk. Maybe its not the best idea for you to take me."

"Oh, I'm gonna  _take you_." Iron Bull laughed while Dorian groaned, walking away from the other two men without another word or thought. Blackwall stood for a moment, completely unsure what to say to the situation, before he cleared his throat and walked from the quarters and into the tavern.

Solas watched the qunari traverse well despite his drinking. An earned skill, he was sure. Yet his mind was thrumming with questions and answers and a puzzle he never thought would be presented to him. Whenever Rhawlin would pull him into a profound conversation, he would sink in it, in her curious questions and astute observations until he drowned in love for her. In his mind, his quest was forgotten to thoughts of her mind, eyes, lips, body whenever they spoke. There was no way he could turn his back on his burden to pursue her, and that fantasy seemed to tempting. It was why he could not continue their romance, and why the proposal of continuing such deep conversations worried him. In all this juggling of duty and feelings, he allowed himself a moment to question whether or not he regretted ever having kissed her in the Fade.

The answer, of course, was no. As it always was.


	6. Remember the Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will hopefully tie a lot of Rhawlin's background together. I am certain that not everything fits with Dragon Age's canon but I like it, so.. I hope you do too.  
> Also the little "charm" mentioned is completely made up,sort of based on 21st birthdays. And is not blood magic, just pressure.

_Hushed and angry sobs echoed weakly from one of the many alienage alleyways. So gentle was the child's lamenting that it was easily swept into the thick Orlesian chatter and disregarded. Although barely visible in the mucky light of a single filthy lantern, the weeping young girl was obviously a mess. Huddled between splintered crates and trash-filled sacks, she cried. Her forehead rested on scabbed knees, shoulders hunched and shaking. Tiny fists balled into the end of her tattered dress which was heavy with mud and gunk._

_"Da'len, do not cry." A man's voice, kind and slightly troubled. Jerking upright, her cries silenced as she beheld him with terror. He was hooded, shading much of his face while his cloak silhouetted his frame. After just a moment of her bewildered silence, the blubbering began with renewed urgency._

_"Garas, da'len! Din'numin" Laughter in his voice even as he approached her as if she were a wounded animal. Bare feet took calculated steps towards the child and into the dim light. The blustering child had bronze skin that looked as if blush stained every inch of it. The elf man's amethyst eyes followed the trail of her red and russet freckles into her bent ears. He stood before her for of splintered wood and cooed. "Hush, child. No harm will come to you." He smiled, crinkling an odd vallaslin that decorated his face, and she quieted._

"Fera, why do I remember you now?"  _The Inquisitor stood watching her memory from an alienage roof she knew she didn't actually exist. All around her the babble of the crowded squalor died like the fleeting thought it was. Below her in the alley the elf man stirred, slowly shifting to look up at the voice that called out to him._

_Rhawlin no longer stood there. Instead, the child that had been hiding behind the debris stepped forward as the rogue leader of the Inquisition, grown and glowering at the man once her father figure._

_"You have not sought me since you got your power, da'len." His echoing voice reminded Rhawlin that she dreamt, and she responded with a slow, defeated shake of her head._

"I could not look before I got the Anchor. Even now it is hard. I'm not meant to walk here as I do."  _She answered in a much softer tone than her expression promised. Fera straightened to look down at her, crossing his arms over his chest._

_"Are you so sure? Why are you here if you weren't meant to be?"_

_Rhawlin looked at the shadow of her old friend for a moment, flabbergasted. "_ Not you too, Fera. Everywhere I look, someone wants me to believe something. Even my memory wants me to believe in the Maker."

_Fera chuckled, tilting his head back a bit but never enough to let his hood fall. His hand came to rest on the top of his head as the chuckling turned into deep laughter. The red elf growled in frustration, all too aware that she was missing out on the joke. After collecting himself, he looked back down at her, mirth shining in his violet eyes._

_"Abelas, da'assan. I never thought to hear you speak of the Maker. I taught you to use your mind." Fera spoke while fighting giggles. Rhawlin understood then, that Fera laughed at her accusation of even his mingled memory enforcing Andrastian. She sighed and sunk onto the least broken of the wooden crates, rubbing her left temple._

" _Dirth falon, emma souveri._ I am weary of so many word games."  _She sighed, trying to focus on the meaning the Fade was trying to show her._

_"I speak plainly enough. Fen'Harel is the only god to walk Thedas. You have learned more of him and our past; surely you see he is worth your belief."_

_"_ Should I, Master Fera? I cannot be sure that he is here, or if he is indeed a god. If he is then should I trust the Trickster? If I do, would he be powerful enough to help? If-"

_"If, if, if- Da'len, you have forgotten how to think with your heart, too."_

_"_ My heart has been broken, Master. It has failed me many times and I cannot trust it."  _Rhawlin's eyes slid closed, as if she could block out the images the Fade supplied her. However when she opened them, the alienage was gone. Instead she sat on a misshapen rock on the edge of a small pool. A small waterfall cascaded into it from a high tower of rocks and plants which spread around to encircle the area. The rocks, decorated with old elven drawings, ended on both sides as perches for two large halla statues._

 _"_ Why here, in Crestwood?"  _She asked out loud, mostly to herself._

 _"Because here is where you lost your heart. Here is where you will learn to find it. Don't mind it too much, it will be clear someday._   _Little Arrow, do you remember the promise you made me?" Fera paused but he did not let her answer. "You swore you would be as cunning as the wolf, in all that you did." Rhawlin started to argue but he interrupted with the ghostly ring of drawing steel. "Your experiences have pressured your spirit to breaking. You have lost your heart and been tamed." He took a falling step to kneel beside her sitting form, holding up a small, irrelevant blade to point at her chest. "Your instincts have dulled with the grief of mistakes, even those that do not belong to you." Fera's voice began to soften to a wavering whisper, the blade moving to brace the point against where Rhawlin's heart beat. She was completely still, unafraid but anxious for his message. "Da'assan, remember your instincts and do not deny them. Remember your cunning and do not ignore it. Remember your survival and all that it means. My darling Rhawlin, can you do that?"_

 _"_ I.. I will remember, Fera."  _Rhawlin spoke, hearing her voice as too real for this place. The elf man smiled with pride and adjusted his grip on the blade._

_"That is good. Fen'Harel is close, do not forget him. And do not forget.. Felassan." His piercing her heart was swift, and she felt her back arch and hands dig into bunched silk._

_Silk...?_

The Inquisitor woke with a start, sitting up so quickly that her stomach threatened to eject the churning alcohol from the night before. There was a loud, throbbing hammering that echoed in her head, which pulsed with pain. However she ignored it for the moment, recalling her dreams with a half-functioning mind and trying to figure out how Fera's advice would help.

 _Cunning, instincts and survival. Fen'Harel. Felassan.. The Slow Arrow.._ Why did every piece of advice have to be so cryptic? She tried to push it all from her mind; even now, having been in the fade, she put little stock in what her own dreams showed her. Never would she know it like the mages did. But the puzzle was there and taunting her, implying a solution to her turmoil that she desperately coveted. Oh but that  _damned_  pounding.

Rubbing her temples, the elf realized the hammering was a slow, heavy knock at the door. Knowing it would not cease until she addressed it, she pushed herself out of her bed and grabbed the silk brocade robe that hung on the bedpost. It took two tries and clearing her throat before she finally croaked loud enough to be heard.

"Enter-" Rhawlin called as she finished the tie on the knee-length garment and hastily ran her fingers through her particularly frazzled hair. She felt like death and would far rather sleep, but her dreams left her feeling befuddled and determined. So she attempted to put on commanding airs, standing at attention as she listened to gentle steps ascend the stairs to her quarters.

"Good morning Inqui-.. Rhawlin."

She blanched at the sound of Solas' greeting, stunned that he would even come near her quarters. He appeared at the top of the stairs holding a silver tray of dishes, a jingling bag strapped around his chest. Hesitating after the last step, he examined the girl with uncertainty.

"How are you feeling after last night?" He asked, finally taking the quick steps to set the tray on her desk. It took a moment to actually set it down, as it had to balance it with one hand while he closed and set aside a number of books.

"Last night? I'm fine. Why?" Rhawlin watched him as she responded, cautious of some knowledge that Solas had that she could not recall.

"Well, you still have blood on your face. And ah, your lip is still very swollen. Dorian shouldn't have been holding you so tightly, it would have spared some bruises on his legs."

Blood rose to color the red elf's cheeks and stain them maroon, her heartbeat spurring with embarrassment. Whatever memory was lost to her intoxication sounded too personal for shared understanding. Solas watched her from the corner of his eye, smirking with knowledge and glee as he poured some tea from a small pot. He turned and presented the steaming cup to her, forcing his smile to be mellow and polite.

The Inquisitor took the cup with a small grunt, silently willing her blush dissipate. The few clues Solas gave were enough for the memories to start returning and after a few sips of the bitter stuff, she remembered most of it. A contented sigh passed her lips as her stomach calmed and the pounding in her head quieted some. Her body ached with exhaustion and the pressure in her skull had not yet vanished, but the relief was extremely welcomed.

"Heh, I'm lucky I didn't bust a tooth on Dorian's shin. We both would have been paying for that." One hand left the cup to touch her nose and she seethed at the pain and swelling.

"Indeed. However you did break your nose. We're lucky you were at a.. point.. where you could ignore it." Solas busied himself with the rummaging through the bag that hung at his hip. He pulled out an empty glass vial and a stopper, holding them up to inspect them. He frowned when he found the light insufficient.

When the man quickly flung open the heavy red of her drapes of her curtains to expose the windows and welcome the morning sun, Rhawlin hissed.

"I apologize. Better to get it over with though, don't you think? Speaking of.." Solas walked to the side of her bed, still messed from her sleep, and motioned for her to sit. Rhawlin sighed, taking a quick swallow to finish her tea, and sat where he directed. The mage carefully placed the bottle and stopper into the Inquisitor's lap, trusting her to hold them.

His slender fingers fell over her face, moving to frame her nose at its off angle. The crack was abrupt and painful, and she could not help but whimper. The sound bit at Solas' heart as he pressed the shape of her nose back into place, full of sorrow for having to inflict such pain on his love. The blood came quickly, though, and his hands left her face to deftly grab the glass from her lap.

Crimson flowed from her damaged nose into the vial pressed gently against her nostril. Solas moved to be eye level with it, watching the progress with mild disinterest. Rhawlin, however, was openly offended by his casual collection of her blood.

"Excuse me? Whats that for?" Her voice was nasally and weak, pushing the blood spattering into the bottle.

"Its a silly tradition I witnessed a long time ago, in the Fade. Ancient elves who came into adulthood would celebrate by imbuing spirits, dancing and- ahem, having relations, while storytellers played music. Then when they were drained of energy, they were made to traverse into the woods and return with something of use. If they returned wounded, their blood would be collected and made into a charm." Solas was quiet then as he carefully pulled the filled vial away and pressed a spare cloth to her nose to help stop the bleeding. He allowed Lavellan to hold it, rising to his feet and walking back to the desk and his supplies.

"Even then they could tell that blood was not consistent. There was something whimsical about the warrior's blood, mingled with the brew of elation. The young men and women proved that even at their physical worst, they could survive. The charm was to remind them of that." He lifted the bottle to inspect it again, this time focusing on the top he sealed to prevent any spilling. Magic began to shimmer around the hand that held the glass. Rhawlin watched him with wide, interested eyes as he charmed her blood.

Lights faded, magic subsided, and the vial's contents clinked in a little chorus against the glass. The blood had pressed into five or six glinting gems, pressured into solid pieces. They were uneven and oddly shaped but they shimmered like rubies in their container.

Solas grabbed a length of leather cord from the contents of his bag and began to wrap it around the lip of the vial. A few careful knots and some estimate sizing, and he held up the finished project. Rhawlin pulled the cloth from her nose, relieved to find the bleeding stopped, and extended her hand out for it.

The man held it, letting the small bottle dangle above her open palm. It danced across her skin, never landing and she never tried to close her fingers around it. For a moment she was entranced by them, the oblong gems that just minutes ago were flowing through her wounds. And then she was questioning, concerned.

"What happened to those who did not receive wounds? Or worse, died? They believe they are adults just to have another test that could kill them?"

Solas looked passed the bottle to watch Rhawlin's intense golden eyes, full of resolve for knowing what she didn't. "This particular test was optional. Again, more of a silly tradition. Something for fully developed elves who still wanted to dance naked under the moon as children. Nothing so serious. Those who did not return received a funeral, but it was a rare occurrence." His tone was soft, comforting in passing along his wisdom. She watched the bottle for a few seconds more before she finally grabbed it, looking down at the jostling beads with a slight smile.

"You sure know a lot, Ser. I am envious of your ability to walk to Fade, or I would pursue these histories myself. I appreciate the story on old, silly traditions. However, I-" His hands were suddenly on her face again, and she felt the familiar flood of healing magic as he finished the job of fixing her nose. She froze, even her breath stilling as she did not want to make the action any more laborious. After a moment he was finished and he stepped away from her, looking at her with polite blankness.

"However, I do not think I should partake in traditions I do not understand."

"Ah, that's correct. You're a godless heretic." Solas spoke plainly, neither teasing or blaming, but Rhawlin sighed heavily at his words.

"I just don't believe it to be wise. What if these gems are actually the souls of dead wolf puppies or something? Elven traditions seem to be rather dark." Rhawlin spoke, avoiding Solas' gaze by watching the gems as she shifted the bottle around.

"Well, I cannot say that that is untrue. But I found the truth in the Fade, just as I had done before. If you ever have a question about the elves, I still am your adviser, and I will answer as best I can. For now, breakfast is ending. I will leave you to prepare, Rhawlin."

Solas left her with a smile and a nod of his head. His visit distressed her in a variety of ways. The way he spoke made it sound like he understood her drive for answers, something Varric or Dorian would have to account for she was sure. And so soon after her dreams filled her with new and pressing questions. Worst of all, he called her Rhawlin, he smiled at her, he made her heart fidget and she could not stand that it might have pleased her. With a frustrated grunt, she slipped the leather cord over her head to wear the charm as she made to get ready for the day.


	7. Worries of the Tal'Vashoth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter this time. Iron Bull doesn't really get into his feelings much, which is his character. But I think when he's frustrated he'd let little things slip that showed him hurting for being denounced.

Sounds of a busy community flooded her ears from the throne room as Rhawlin pulled open the door that led from her quarters. Solas was correct in the time; breakfast had ended and the day's duties were already underway. Try as she might to converge undetected into the crowd of bustling nobles and gaurds, they were determined not to let that happen. They split to allow her an open path towards Josephine's office, murmuring amongst themselves. One of the soldiers greeted her happily, thanking her for the festivities of the night before. She smiled warmly and said they'd have to to it again after Corypheus' defeat, to which he and his buddies eagerly agreed. It seemed to open a floodgate of attention from the crowd around her.

She took several more questions and comments from nobles and peasants alike for a few long minutes, using her professional mask of politeness to mask the pain of her throbbing hangover. When she finally closed the door of Josephine's office behind her, it was all she could do not to sink in the chair opposite of the ambassador and fall asleep.

"Good morning, Inquisitor." Josie's voice was light and pleasant, the polar opposite of the grogginess that came with Rhawlin's response.

"For you, at least, I hope. Please excuse my delay, I know it is terrible for the Inquisition's image." The elf moved to stand in front of the desk, looking down to watch her adviser write swift and methodically, the print graceful.

"Thankfully, no nobility will be present for the meeting that you called. We're still waiting for Alistair so at least your tardiness won't look so devastating." Her words came out in a teasing tone, looking up for a brief moment from her parchment and quill. It seemed as though she was having a pleasant morn until she gazed upon the Inquisitor's face. Her expression jumped to fear at first and then fell into worry.

Green and blue bruises still blossomed around Rhawlin's thin nose, blending into the shadows under her lackluster golden eyes. Paling with her ailments, her face was pinked in an almost unnatural hue, which might have looked worse if not for her minor efforts in her appearance. For the first time in some weeks she had tried to tame her wild hair; burgundy strands were pulled into a tight, short ponytail. It had taken a decorative silver headband to keep the mess back long enough to tie, and she left it for when bits of her hair unavoidably sprang loose from the plaidsweave knot. The ribbon was tied so tight that the brush of her hair was frayed out and unruly, squeezed into blooming outwards. However this exposed her sunken cheeks her still-flushed ears that seemed so  _red_  in comparison.

Josephine realized she was gaping and apologized with sincere sorrow and concern. Rhawlin dismissed it easily, not bothered by the truth of the matter. She looked like crap.

"I heard the soldiers gossiping this morning but I did not think it was true." Josephine admitted sheepishly, and her leader couldn't tell if she was impressed or troubled.

"Well, even I can stumble sometimes. Being drunk did not help." Rhawlin responded calmly while she lulled her head to one side, stretching her neck.

"Stumble? Rumor has it Solas pulled you from the tavern and challenged you to duel! Pavus and Cassandra were trying to stop you, so much so that our Necromancer  _tripped_  and  _pinned_  you?"

Rhawlin slid into the chair that so tempted her, but it was not out of comfort. Her legs threatened to give way under the weight of yet another problem. It was proving to be an eventful few days after weeks of idle training. Not four days ago she thought about declaring more vigorous training to busy herself beyond thinking or feeling. Now that was all she could really do with the complications laid before her.

"Tell me you said something. Anything." The elf groaned.

"Of course," Josephine smiled. "I told them none of your people would dare challenge you, and your allies would never hinder you. However the rumor is out there, and something must be publicly done before it expands."

"Understood. Thank you, as always, for your wonderful work." Rhawlin was earnest in her gratitude but her tone was lacking, tired. Soldiers' faiths, personal beliefs, the urge and need to find the truth burdened her mind with leadless questions. And all the while, Corypheus could attack at any given moment while she struggled with things far less immediately lethal, like the rumor that one of her Inner Circle was questioning her authority. Her eyes fell on the door to the War Room's hallway and she hoped that they found some solutions. And hoped further that those solutions helped in the fierce battle to come. "Keep it up."

The ambassador nodded and refocused her attention on the documents in front of her. For a moment, at least.

"Pardon me, Lavellan, but... what  _did_  happen?"

There was silence as Rhawlin looked at her adviser in mild disbelief, but simply smiled and retold the story as best as her still-foggy memory would allow. She left out the part about proclaiming herself a 'godless heretic' and finished the story with Cassandra watching her from the desk chair to ensure that the Inquisitor did not try to escape again. Josephine was laughing early on and for several minutes after it was over. Rhawlin resigned to the reaction and allowed herself to chuckle with her, despite her pain.

"I've only been here a second and you're already laughing at me! I was wondering why the Inquisitor would call me to one of these fancy way meetings." Alistair closed the outer door behind him, faking a comedic sob. "It was just to make fun of me."

"Of course, Warden, what other use are you?" Rhawlin grinned, looking over at the blonde man with laughter in her eyes.

"My wife knows of a few. But she would kill me if I told anyone about them. So this meeting..?"

"Right-" Josephine made a quick scrawl on her board and stood. "Everyone is here now so let's get down to business."

Rhawlin nodded and joined the other two as they walked down the hallway to the War Room, muttering appreciations as Alistair held the door for the ladies.

Cole lifted his head as he heard her enter, a smile on his mouth as he bounded over from Iron Bull's side. Rhawlin beamed, pleased to see him since their reconciliation had gone so smoothly. Before his intrusion into her broken mind, she took the boy every where. Rhawlin found such good in him, even where his nature did not compel him. So unknowing and pure, she loved him, and was constantly inclined to protect him from the darkness of the world he'd stumbled into. Allowing Varric to inspire humanity in him was an extremely arduous decision, and she could only hope the flesh of a human would be enough to protect his spirit.

As she wrapped her arms around the adolescent, felt the small heat that was gradually making his body feel more genuine, she was thankful for it. Thankful he felt more real, that his returned affection was full of life and knowing love. She held him like a child and they both quietly rejoiced in their bond. Nothing romantic or burning, but intense in its presence in their hearts. They disengaged after a moment and Cole spoke, almost excitedly.

"Thank you for inviting me. I'm glad I can help you help people."

Rhawlin nodded and looked around at the faces of her selected confidants. Alistair had moved to stand next to Cullen at the table and they were quietly chatting. Ex-templar-y stuff, she was sure. Cullen looked tired, although she was hardly one to say with her beat up face. On the opposite side of the table, Leliana had stopped whatever conversation she and Cullen had been having before their entrance and had been staring at the Inquisitor. The Spymaster, lovely as always, studied the discoloration of the elf's bruises for a moment before looking into her eyes and shaking her head slightly. Although the redhead's mischievous grin was not hidden well enough for Rhawlin not to notice.

Iron Bull sat leisurely in one of the chairs against the far wall, as he often was. He showed no sign of the night's events, his one eye alert yet, astonishingly avoiding her gaze. Her immediate reaction was to be hurt, wounded by her dear friend's evasion. Cole shifted beside her, reacting to sudden wave of pain from his claimed guardian. The movement caught her eye and when she looked up at him, he could only furrow his brow and grimace with an unspoken apology. He knew something more. Fuck.

Lavellan took a deep breath and renewed the arrogance of power she was expected to have. Her expression was calm and attentive, but seemed imposing. Dorian and Vivienne had spent a solid two days teaching her to appear powerful and hide her emotions. It was a skill she was glad for as she took the steps to address the War Table, forcing Bull's and everyone else's attention.

"Good morning. Thank you all for being here on time, to those who were." Alistair winked at Rhawlin and raised a clenched fist into the air. The small group chuckled, but Rhawlin cut it short. "But it seems we do have a problem. Our soldiers are made up many different people going through a very dangerously uncertain time. They all have their own religious standings and beliefs, although the majority are Andrastian. Most of those Andrastians still believe me to be the Herald, as well, but  _all_ of our people are struggling with the impending conflict, mentally and spiritually. Putting personal beliefs aside, I ask you all to help work through how we might remedy, or at least ease their strife." Inwardly, the elf congratulated herself, proud of the flawless repetition of her prepared lines.

There were several moments of silent hesitation, the three advisers sharing knowing glances while avoiding the perplexed glares of two of the guests. Cole, at the Inquisitor's side, stared forward in silence as she did, although he hunched and hid his face as he generally did.

Leliana was the first to speak, careful words as not to cause an immediate reaction and a rush of demanding voices. "Lets look at this logically, as you asked. Since our armies are not  _exclusive_  in belief, it is not so easy to say, make a speech in the name of, ah,  _someone_  or  _something_  else."

Next it was Cullen, who spoke in a neutral way fairly easily. "Not everyone believes in the Maker, or the elven gods, or the Qun or the Stone or anything. Promising the Maker's protection is playing a dangerous game with all sides so I don't think it wise to consider that option. Some have already lost faith, no need to push it."

"Well that takes out the easiest option," Alistair quipped, although it was not entirely well received; Rhawlin smirked but there was little other reaction from the rest. "So how else do you inspire an entire army?"

"That's what I called you in for, Alistair. The Gray Wardens are made up of so many different people yet they do not seem to struggle with belief." Rhawlin looked at him with a marginally softened expression. There had only been one visit from Fera in which she received word about Fereldan and their Wardens so many years ago. The details he brought were sparse, as little had happened past the destruction of Lothering, but her mentor had told her of the alienage elf who had been conscripted, and had been seen traveling with a templar and a witch.

In the ten years that followed she had only heard wandering stories with life in the Dalish. As soon as she came upon a town in her journey to Lothering, she asked as many questions as drunken tavern goers and bartenders would tolerate. With research, it wasn't long or long ago before she became enamored with the Warden couple who found love through triumph. It had made her first meeting with Alistair rather awkward as she jabbered, starstruck.  _ **The**_ _Alistair?_

But here, Rhawlin had to be higher up than him, and that slight uplift was all she could offer. Alistair seemed thoughtful for a brief moment, contemplating the best and most allowable information of his organization.

"It isn't that there aren't any scuffles over religion or anything its just.. when reality comes, its far more pressing than what might happen afterward. And our reality is set in stone after we do the Joining so its really unavoidable. No matter if you commit for your life or run off and join the Chantry, you'll hear the Calling someday and that will be that. Its ineffable. But, that's just my own opinion."

Rhawlin nodded in appreciation towards Alistair despite her disappointment. The thing that made the wardens so united also caused their recent troubles, being so distracted with their taint and Calling, so she could not replicate it even if she wished to subject her people to that. Josephine, who had been scribing the conversation, looked up to comment.

"Should we really stray from the Andrastians? Too many of the nobles that support us are devout and if not the Maker, they would probably be quite resentful to hear us promote any other god."

"I don't think its that simple. We cannot just-"

Iron Bull interrupted Rhawlin, his deep voice resonating from his isolated seat away from the table. "Hold on, I'm sorry but there isn't an official report on solder's beliefs, Boss. How do you know all of this?"

Rhawlin sighed. "Partly in due to common knowledge, partly in empathy. We're facing a great force with no distinct, positive way to defeat it. Morrigan is working to find something, but with his dragon, Corypheus is essentially immortal."

Iron Bull scoffed, rolling his eyes to follow the movement of his head. "The bastard's pet shouldn't be a problem. You've killed tougher lookin' dragons than that, with my help of course, so what's one more?"

Something wound unbelievably taut within the Inquisitor snapped. Small fists slammed into the edge of the board full of tiny effigies, surprising strength tilting the table. After a few of the figurines spilled to the floor, she let up just as quickly, setting the table down with a thump.

"I  _cannot_  be everywhere! I cannot kill  _every_  enemy and cannot save  _every_  life. I am not a god to be revered, and right now that's what my soldiers see. I called you here for your experience in morale, Bull, not so you can inflict  _another_  responsibility on me that I do not have time for! I cannot fight a dragon and Corypheus and protect my soldiers and deal with the Breach all at the  _same time_!"

"If you don't think you can offer protection because its not true, why haven't you denounced yourself as Herald!?" Iron Bull was on his feet, stomping towards the War Table with a sneer crinkling his large nose.

"Is that what you would do, Bull? Honestly? Take away the thing that brought these people together in the first place, right as we're about to face the thing we've been working to defeat?" When Rhawlin was met with silence, she continued. "What's going on, The Iron Bull? Why do you fight me at every turn?"Again, Iron Bull did not respond, although he was leaning over the table glaring into the elf's eyes.

The Inquisitor looked up from Bull's face to see that most everyone else had taken a few steps about, the warriors with half-drawn swords. Leliana and Josephine had moved 'round to stand by the door while Cullen and Alistair stood defensively on either side of the table. This was not at all what Rhawlin expected to happen, and her frustrations were quickly replaced with concern.

"Enough. Leave us." Rhawlin commanded as she looked back at Bull, and her advisers hesitated. "Now." The sound of metal sliding back home and soft footsteps were all that followed from them, but Cole beside her looked at her with wide eyes.

"Me too?" He asked, voice soft and nearly pleading.

"Yes,  _da'mi_ , I'm sorry. Go on." Rhawlin did not look up to watch Cole leave in gloom. Instead, watching him still, she slowly moved around the table to Bull, speaking in soft tones.

"Yesterday we shared drink, and never before have you been so harsh to me. Tell me what's on your mind, Bull."

Iron Bull kept her gaze but still not speak, although his breathing started to become ragged with emotion. A small sigh passed her lips as she took another couple steps towards him.

"Just talk to me you dumb horned bastard.."

The Bull stared with steady eyes for a moment before letting out a loud huff through his nose. With another breath, he spoke, low voice craggy and rough.

"I gave up my trust for my people. I became an outcast in all I believe to save them. Why the  _hell_  can't you just give up a  _lie_  for yours? You wouldn't have to worry about their damn beliefs and you wouldn't have to struggle so much with yours. You're trying to raise the faiths of an army when you.." He sighed. "I understand that you're having issues, Boss, but damn.. Don't live a lie like that when you don't even believe in your own gods."

Rhawlin's eyes narrowed to near slits, her lips peeling back to show a savage scowl. "The Inquisition was founded by the faithful, and at the time there was nothing to say that the woman who saved me was not Andraste. Now, it is an unfortunate, evolved lie that I am in the middle of with very little room to move. The best I can do is neither continue to claim, nor deny, the title of Herald or risk losing a very big part of our military. You're smart enough to know that, Bull. I am doing my best to find a way to make my people, all of them, feel safe in the Inquisition without elevating myself any further, and so far you've only tried to hinder me. Regardless of my personal beliefs, which are hardly your concern, I'm  _going_  to do  _something_."

Iron Bull looked down at the elf with his one eye mimicking hers. They stayed in tense quiet while their accusations absorbed into each other, scrutiny in both of their views. Ultimately, Bull looked away from her with an annoyed holler.

"Gah! Last night I thought it made sense but then Dorian is all 'Oh she's got nothing to believe in 'cause of Solas' and all this shite and then I get here and Cole says you're gonna do something to bolster faith and.. I didn't think of it as anything past hypocrisy. I thought you were gonna.. I dunno.. take advantage of their faith knowing they were wrong."

Rhawlin blinked away her harsh expression and straightened to look up at Bull respectfully. "It isn't faith I want to raise, Bull. It's trust. Trust that we're doing the right thing and trust in the skills we've taught them.  _Belief_ , Iron Bull, in that we will do everything we can for our people, regardless."

The Iron Bull shook his head from side to side, one hand raising the grip at the muscles on the back of his neck. "I still don't like it, Boss, but I get it. You want the Inquisition to be a balanced force on its own."

"Yes. And I'm not sure how to do that. People are going to believe what they want to either way, but the more people that relinquish that I'm Andraste's chosen to see me as only The Inquisitor, and believe in me that way, the better. But we will die before we see that change if I don't allow the faithful to remain as such at least until we kill Corypheus. And establishing the Inquisition as its own power before then is imperative to retaining our strength."

"So.. how do we make people believe in the Inquisition without messing with their view of the Herald or their Maker?"

"That's what this meeting was for, you dolt." Rhawlin's grin chased away the rest of the tension between them and Bull smiled in return.

"Sorry 'bout that, Boss."

"Just pull me aside if you got a problem, Bull. Apparently its hard to get anyone together in a timely manner."

They walked towards the door laughing and opened it to find the rest of their group waiting, anxious. Seeing no new wounds on the two of them, many of them sighed in relief. Rhawlin invited them back into the War Room, never addressing the spat between her and the qunari, much to all of their dismay.


	8. Cooking Crows

 For an hour or so, the meeting continued in relative peace. The group of seven discussed and countered an array of ideas in which to not only shift the people's beliefs from the Inquisitor's holiness, but boost their belief in the Inquisition itself and not still protecting the organization's connection to Andraste in the shuffle. All throughout the discussions, Rhawlin's aching brain never let up on its punishment for her celebrating. When Cullen thought to announce that Andraste had left The Inquisitor, deeming their power sufficient, Leliana countered once again and the elf could not contain her irritation.

“To say that She has suddenly left us would more like cause a panic than anything else-”

“Fuuuuuuuuuck.” Rhawlin groaned as her head fell forward, lightly bumping her forehead against the map. Alistair fought to choke down his laughter while the advisers looked at their leader with concern and confusion.

“Pardon me, Inquisitor.” Leliana began, seeming almost apologetic. “I did not mean to offend you.”

Rhawlin slowly rolled her eyes up to look at the bard, a whining sigh muffled by the table and movement. “No, forgive me. I am simply.. feeling poorly. It is my own fault and I shouldn't have taken it out you, especially when you are correct. I just.. need some tea.”

Cole looked up from where he sat on the floor against the wall, examining various things on the floor while listening in more ways than one. “Can I help?”

Pleased with the offer and his enthusiasm, she nodded. “Solas brought me some this morning that was extremely helpful. Could you find him and ask him for some of the leaves?”

Nodding, Cole was on his feet on a second and heading back out of the War Room. The last thing he “heard” was Rhawlin's embarrassment at being asked again about the rumor of Solas' challenge. He smiled some, beginning to understand the fun behind his friends being teased and why they would do that to each other.

When he entered the Throne Room, it was quiet. Most of the Inquisition were going through their advanced training, leaving more casual areas emptied. Cole took a moment to revel in the silence, its unfamiliar presence oddly refreshing. Not long ago he would have still heard the kitchen staff or maids aching for lost loves or coming fears. In the midst of his enjoyment, the very man he sought walked from his abode, carrying a small clay pot of muddied water.

“Oh, Solas. I didn't, um, hear you.”

“Good afternoon, Cole. Enjoying the quiet?” Solas adjusted his grip on the basin as he stopped to greet the boy. Cole had a moment to wonder what its contents were before he noticed the small smear of silver on the elf's shining dome.

“Yes. You've been painting. Aren't you supposed to be in training?”

“Aren't you?” Solas retorted, smiling some as he began to walk towards the front entrance.

“No, I'm not. Rhawlin asked me to come to a meeting.” Cole answered defensively, quickly closing the distance between them as he caught up with the mage. “And she is hurting.”

Solas stopped short of the door and twisted his body to look at him, expression blank as he pressed for more information.

“What happened? How is she hurting?”

Cole's eyes went wide and distant, lips barely parting as he spoke of what he had found of the Inquisitor's pain. “Daggers. No, hammers. No, cat's nails. Why can't they agree on anything? It crawls through my eye and into my skull. I should have known better.”

Solas' expression did not change however his muscles seemed to relax. “I see. She is still ill from her drinking. Well..” With a swift motion, he shoved the pot into Cole's chest, who grabbed it instinctively. “Take this to where no grass is growing and empty it, and refill it with clean water. By the time you return I will have made and delivered The Inquisitor's tea.”

Cole's brows came together, showing his confusion with whatever arrangement he had somehow agreed too. He watched Solas walk away and through the door that lead back to his section of the rotunda, not entirely sure what to say. So he did as he was told, wrenching open the front door and heading down the steps, careful with his messy package.

With hasty movements, the mage found the tea in his desk, shoved it into a pouch at his belt and quickly walked back through the Throne Room to the kitchen. He bid the staff courteous greetings and bustled about them, careful movements to ensure he was never in their way while he filled a kettle with water. He refrained from questioning the younger girls' impish giggling, although not without some effort.

As he hung the pot over the fire, watching the flames lick over the cast iron bottom, his mind drifted towards Dorian's words from the night before. Before long it, and a thousand thoughts that followed, were all that filled his head. He had struggled with it deep into the night, in long waking thoughts and eventually into the Fade. It had been hard to imagine that all of the Inquisition could fall for his one decision, and he even began to argue that fate. It wasn't long into his personal defense that he had begun laughing at himself. Of course it could.

Now he moved the topic of his musings to Rhawlin herself. It was foolish of him not to think that the Inquisitor's spirit would be as wounded as her heart, for all that he had robbed her of. Learning of it had refilled him with the guilt that he had not yet cleared. Remorse pressed him to abandon his true obligations, to go to her and offer all that he was with any and every word to sway her forgiveness, to lift the recent shadows that cast her golden eyes bronze. This compulsion was so strong that his muscles became rigid, prepared to carry his body to his heart in the War Room and do just that.

One of the giggling girls wrenched his attention to reality, causing his fixed frame to recoil in surprise as her hand, gripping a cloth to protect her skin, intruded on his vision. She was tipping the kettle where it hung over the fire with her shielded fingers, slowly pouring some of the water into a slightly smaller ceramic pot. Solas looked at her with a questioning smile, hiding his embarrassment.

“This is for the Inquisitor, isn't it?” Her young voice chimed like a bird's song. “It should be done proper.” Solas looked at the girl with a lifted brow, curious with what her reasoning was to assume, although correctly, he made the tea for Rhawlin. Brunette hair was tied into a sloppy bun, frayed with her hard work so that strands fell to shape her oval face, while ordinary brown eyes gleamed with mischief.

“It is.” The mage allowed his interest to lilt in his voice, smiling as he saw the girl's eyes widen and a gentle flush of rose filled her cheeks.

“That's good, ser. I do hope she accepts it as a gesture of  _good will_.” The way the young woman said “good will” made Solas chuckle lightly, hearing its double implications.

“Ah, and might I ask why you think I should show such a gesture?” Solas watched the girl as she poured the hot water back into the kettle, leaving the ceramic pot warm.

“Oh,” She began, moving to set the pot on a decorated silver tray on the nearby table, tossing the cloth near it carelessly. “Just the rumors about you dueling and, oh you know, the looks.”

“The looks? Pray tell what looks you have seen.”

She seemed thoughtful as she moved about, gathering the small strainer and prepared bottles of ram's milk and sugar. “We see more than most know. Well, Lady Nightengale knows.” She placed the utensils strategically on the tray and took a more relaxed stance, wrist folded against her hip. “At meals I see her looking at you, and sometimes you at her. But lately she seems.. well, sad. The cook tells us we're silly but, its kinda nice to know she can have her heart broken like any other woman. I'd much prefer to see her happy, though, even if that means killing you in a duel.”

Solas laughed again, though only he would know it to be slightly bitter. Removing the tea from his belt, he moved to stand next to her and empty the remaining leaves and spices into the smaller pot. He would have to remember to make more, when time permitted they could seek out the herbs.

“Well, let us hope it does not come to death between The Inquisitor and I. I must admit to some dissatisfaction in our failure to retain secrecy, though.”

The girl laughed as she picked up the porcelain teapot, earning a befuddled frown from the elf man.

“Please excuse me,” She moved back to the kettle on the fire, Solas following with the protective cloth in his grip. As the young woman held the teapot at the right angle, the elf tipped it with his fingers as she had to pour and mix with the tea. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. People always say, 'Faye you are too forward, you'll end up lynched one day'. Well, don't worry. Kitchen gossip is rarely taken seriously so even if we wanted to tell someone, it would probably be disregarded. And we didn't. Tell anyone, that is.”

Solas was quiet for the few moments it took to fill the pot, watching the clear liquid become cloudy with steeping leafs and blossoms. He couldn't fight the look of disgust that scrunched his nose as the musky scent climbed slowly into the air, but replaced it with a kind smile as he looked back at the maiden.

“Thank you.”

“Oh, it was no hassle, I assure you.” Faye replaced the teapot onto the tray and lidded it before holding her hand out to Solas for the rag, which she took and folded neatly on top of it to help keep its heat. With practiced fluidity, she grabbed the tray and held it out for him. “Letha didn't think it wise for me to talk to you, being an apostate and all.”

Hands gripping but not solely supporting the tray, Solas looked behind her at the other girl who had been chuckling, seeing her grim-faced and suspicious.

“But you aren't so frightening. I mean, you've already been in here twice today just to make some tea for her. I hope you and Inquisitor Lavellan find what you need. Either way, Thedas will be forever changed for her influence, and it would be nice if the story had a peaceful end.” Faye smiled, pulling her hands from the tray to leave Solas holding it. He watched her turn back to her chores, humming a soft tune he thought he might have heard the bard sing.

 

 

Moving back to the Throne Room was a slower task, and he did not envy the staff that did so every day. Once there, he respectfully knocked on Josephine's office door and waited for a response. When none came, he opened it while balancing the tray on one hand, and continued through the office and the next door. Avoiding the rubble that still cluttered the War Room's hall, he took graceful steps and smooth movements to ensure no spilling. It had certainly been a small adventure just getting tea this far into the Keep. Again, he knocked politely.

“Enter,” It was Cullen's voice, expectant of the noise but not of who made it. Solas carefully opened the door and took only a few steps into the room.

“Thank you, Cole, I-” Rhawlin's pained smile slipped as she saw who held the tray. Twice now he showed up when she was sure he wouldn't, for reasons she wasn't sure she wanted to understand. His mothering was adored, and yet met with deserved cynicism.

“Cole is helping me, so that I may help you.” Solas spoke as he gently moved between Rhawlin and Alistair at the War Table, carefully setting the tray where there were no figurines.

“That is kind of him. Thank you.” Rhawlin made to reach for the small pot, but Solas' swift fingers wrapped around its handle and he began to pour out the cups. He handed the first to Rhawlin, who looked at it for a second before passing it on to Leliana, who passed it to Iron Bull. They continued like that in both directions, followed with the milk and sugar in the same way until everyone (except Solas of course) had a cup and there were two left, and they all sipped it with contented sighs. Solas watched the relief flood to his love's face and smiled, pleased that he could help her. He received more thanks from the others, and he nodded to them all on one slight motion.

Rhawlin quickly downed the drink, scalding her throat in an extremely pleasant way that sent heat to envelope her aching head. Solas handed her one of the other full cups without a word, and she took it from him the same way. However she would also notice the silvery smear on Solas' head as he took a few steps back through the shifting lights. It shimmered for a moment, right above one of his pointed ears, and the realization of his training avoidance made her inwardly groan. She had never thought to look into his attendance. Well, she did, but she had buried those thoughts in training too.

The group of them sat in silent ease, pleased with their mid-meeting refreshment and the break in frustrating conversation. Even The Iron bull drank the bitter stuff in quiet, although he hadn't quite been his usual boisterous self since the meeting had resumed. Even so, the chamber was full of a friendly, peaceful energy that seemed to revitalize their resolve.

“Well-” Rhawlin sighed as she set down her second emptied cup. “We should return to our discussion.” The gentle clinking of stacking cups and enthused agreements followed, bodies shifting uneasily out of their comfort. Solas looked between them all, seeking a reaction to his attendance, which proved lacking. Almost too lacking, as if they were trying not to be bothered.

“I know that I was not formally invited, but perhaps I could help?” Rhawlin physically flinched at Solas' offer, her head shifting down as if to shield herself from a blow, hands pressed against the table as he took a step towards them.

“You don't think you've helped enough?” Iron Bull snorted, the only one in the room, besides the Inquisitor herself, who understood how deeply he'd harmed her.

“Perhaps, in the way of elven tradition. But Rhawlin knows enough of the Dalish tales to be a good voice for the few elves in Skyhold. However, you've hardly a voice for mages here, and of those we have plenty who have separate struggles that should be addressed.”

Bull grunted, though a small smile curved his scarred mouth. Leliana nodded eagerly, as if the thought had occurred to her as well. Rhawlin grimaced, wary of the imminent pangs of heartache and frustration interrupting their talks with personal things. She loathed having not invited Dorian or Vivienne.

“It is not a bad idea, Lavellan. None of us have personal insight as a mage, and their experiences could make their needs peculiar.” Leliana reiterated, looking between the two elves.

Rhawlin was sure Cullen would argue some, at least a little, but he simply watched the Inquisitor while she stayed leaning over the silver stray of cups. His gaze didn't hold judgment, but something incredibly close, waiting to see how his leader would react.

 

_Fen'Harel, give me the will to survive my heartbreak, to save the world you inhabit._

 

None could see, though Lavellan could feel, the odd flaring and pinpricks from the Anchor in her palm. She took a shaking breath as if she'd been submerged, a tiny tremor rattled her as she stretched to stand tall, turning to look her lost love in the eyes.

Whether it was Solas' tea, a response from the Dread Wolf, or her own adrenaline at the possibility that it might have been, she did not know. 

“Well, come on then. Let's work on doing the impossible and appease everybody.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm extremely excited for the next chapter. I'm ready to write some fluff and love.


	9. Swords and Shields Spoilers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay its not really spoilers although I suppose it sort of is? I dunno. I had a couple concepts on how to approach this chapter and it took me a long time to decide which way to take it. The specific chapter, characters and meanings mentioned are made up, since there aren't many details on the story itself. Umm.. I hope you enjoy!

 Cole grimaced slightly as he re-entered the Throne Room from his chore, carrying the stained pot Solas used to clean his brushes, full of clear water. It was not cluttered with people as it had been in early morning, but nobility and soldiers between trainings stood unhurried in small groups up the length of the room. It was not the same peace he had appreciated with anxious thoughts calling to his mind in desperate, soundless wails. A nobleman's daughter was missing, a soldier was sick, someone had lost the love of their life. Gritting his teeth, he forced his own thoughts to surface and take over his mind, something he did not know he would appreciate having the ability to do.

Thinking of Sera's pranks often did the trick, or of the stories he had heard from Cassandra's mind. He moved to Solas' space with an overactive mind, and noticing he wasn't there, placed the pot on the floor and took a moment to look at the elf man's progress. His thoughts were forced onto colors, painting, arts as he stepped back out into the Throne Room. Another group of soldiers had come in from an expired session, Varric among them, chattering about traps and wires.

“Varric-” Cole called just enough for the dwarf to notice and look over from the group behind him. He bid quick goodbyes to them, motioning for Cole to come while he moved to sit in his usual table by one of the fireplaces.

“How'd the meeting go? Where's Rhawlin?” Varric sank back into his chair, letting sore muscles rest.

“I don't know.” Cole took a moment to explain Rhawlin's outburst and his offer, and how Solas had traded him chores. The dwarf frowned some, unsure of what to make of it all.

It was still a bit difficult not to let his spiritual nature overcome newly found abilities, and often Cole found himself in the minds of the people he conversed with, whether he tried to or not. So as he watched Varric's expression show his skepticism, he found himself opening to his dear friend's fear with little effort. Fear that their beloved leader would be sabotaged, for whatever imagined reason Solas might have. Or, that Rhawlin would deny Solas' good intentions and make things more tense within the Circle than it already was. Or that they would just end up in a fight and probably ruin the war map.

Cole smiled some as he listened to his friend's anxieties, taking a small breath to convey reassurances when the great _fury_ screeched at his mind. His head whipped to look at the front door, eyes widening in the intensity of the anger approaching. He couldn't quite make out the words, the reasons, it was too far away.

“You okay, kid?” Varric leaned forward a tad, enough to look under the lid of Cole's hat from his sitting position. The boy's eyes were wide and extremely focused, his tense frown a thin line before he sighed.

“It's.. It's hard to understand. Getting clearer, closer.” Cole took a slow step towards the main entrance, hands curled into fists. “Kill.. him..”

“What? Kill who?” Varric stood from his chair, following the boy with a couple hurried steps. “Is it Corypheus?”

Cole was silent for a moment, but took another slow step forward. He felt the rage becoming more precise, the bulk of anger edged with humiliation, confusion, and frustrated longing. Its howling pain formed harsh, gnashing words in his head.

“Cole?” The dwarf nearly whispered.

“Kill him. I will kill him. The heroine's companion, to be taken. And taken. And taken. To compose such things. I will kill him.”

Varric's eyes widened with understanding, and he focused on the front door just in time for it to swing open. Cassandra made no time for dramatic entrances, instead heading straight for the two men with furious stomps. Gloved hands curled tight into Varric's half-open tunic, lifting enough to force him on his toes. A few of the hairs on his chest got caught in the grip, causing the dwarf to wince slightly, but the Seeker paid it no mind.

“Explain yourself!” She demanded, staring down into his amber eyes with storms of emotions reflecting in her own. He watched them for a second before plastering a half-smirk on his face and feigning ignorance.

“You'll have to be more specific. A lot of what I've done needs explaining.” He spoke with forced laughter. Cassandra growled, giving him a single, hard shake.

“Why did you add that chapter, Varric!?” She shouted, compelling the attention of all in the Throne Room who weren't already watching them. Besides a light grunt at the jostling, the dwarf made no response. Cole recoiled into a defensive stance, his scanning mind never moving from her thoughts.

“It was the Knight-Captain's underground source and ally-” Cole muttered, just loud enough to be heard. “He was abducted by a secret organization. They wanted answers, they sent the warrior woman, and he could deny her very little.”

Cassandra gasped lightly, pink staining her cheeks as she listened to the compassionate boy replay her mental recap of her recently finished chapter of _Swords and Shields._ Her grip in Varric's shirt tightened but she avoided looking back down at him. However it forced her to see the attentive and mildly fearful looks of those around them.

“Maybe you'd want to discuss this elsewhere, Seeker?” Varric asked in a whisper, one hand raising to gently grab one of her hands. Her eyes narrowed and she scowled as she turned back at him, her muscles trembling with the effort not to try throwing him. In a huff, she released him and turned to face the closest gathering of people.

“I am certain that our men could all use more training. Unless they'd like to prove to me they are ready.” Her accent came thicker with agitation, but the message was not lost on the loitering soldiers who all began bustling about, returning to _anywhere_ other than where the Seeker was. In the commotion, the few remaining nobles grouped together, talking in frantic, hushed tones while peeking at Cassandra.

“Come, dwarf. I will have truth from you.” She growled, turning away and heading back out the way she came. Cole started to follow her, the urge to help resolve such extreme feelings nearly overpowering.

“No, kid. The only way she'll feel better is with my help. Don't worry.” The dwarf held his hand out, a small but sure touch against the kid's arm. He gave Cole one last, long look, grinning, before following the woman with relaxed steps.

The adolescent stood, shifting in uncertainty, watching them leave and the rest of the soldiers disperse. He recalled some advice from Solas, 'Do not deny your nature. If courtesy prevents you from helping someone, help another.' So, he listened for the hurts of others and sought them out to ease.

 

It didn't take long for Cassandra and Varric to return to Cassandra's usual training spot by the soldier's quarters, even as the woman stopped several times to correct the stances of the training forces. They walked into the quarters without a word, continuing up the stairs to where they had had their altercation after Hawke arrived. On one of the tables sat a couple stacks of books, varying in genre and thickness.

Cassandra walked over to the table and shuffled the stacks about, until she pulled out the one and only copy of the newest installment of _Swords and Shields_. Varric watched her, considering how much work she had gone to camouflage it on the off chance that one of the training soldiers felt like stopping to snoop through her collection of books. He was certain she probably kept it hidden elsewhere, when it wasn't the reason she was hunting him down.

He jumped, thoughts interrupted when the Seeker slammed the book onto the floor, filling the building with an echoing bang.

“Explain!” She shouted.

“Explain what!?” He answered in kind.

“Explain why Cedric, the Knight-Captain's informer, was abducted and..” She blanched, unable to continue out loud what they both already knew about the plot.

“-and had sex with his abductor, Constable Jetta? I'm impressed, Seeker. You've gotten through a lot of the book already. Wait... did you finish it already?” Varric spoke with his usual teasing tone, hiding his bittersweet relief.

“I-.. yes I have. Now explain!”

Varric dipped down to pick up the book, brushing off a few specks of dirt, before moving to sit at the table. He thumbed through the pages until he came upon the beginning of the part in question.

“Well, it _is_ a romance novel.” He smiled as she scoffed at him. “So what, exactly, is your problem?”

Cassandra plopped into the chair opposite him and braced her hands on the table, expression fierce. “I have many problems with it, Varric. Why would they lay with each other when they are so cruel to one another? Why would she, with such a foul-mouthed swindler? And why.. why would he care for his kidnapper?”

Varric read over the lines he had read a thousand times before initially giving the book to her, recalling her blush and how she couldn't hide the glee in her eyes as she took it from him. A sigh passed his lips as he let the novel's spine fall against the wood of the table.

“Well, it could have just been lust that made the spy and Constable have sex.” Varric turned the page, avoiding Cassandra's gaze by skimming the words.

“I do not think so. She is very committed to her duty, which typically does not include laying with prisoners. And the spy is her captive, even if it is not a harsh captivity.”

“Maybe they fell in love, Seeker.” The tone of Varric's voice dropped, mellowing into a deep whisper. “At least, I kinda thought they did when I wrote it.”

Cassandra scoffed again, but it seemed lackluster even to her. “He loves the alchemist woman in the thief's guild. ”

Varric shrugged, turning the page and continuing his scan, remembering how he envisioned each scene. “Perhaps once. But the Constable has strength he'd never seen before. Look, Seeker, I didn't think you'd get through it so fast. I thought I'd be back in Kirkwall before you got even halfway through it.”

“Well, you're not. And the book never says their fate, past their night together.” She watched him closely as he read over his own words, studying the features of his downcast face.

“True. Well..” Varric took a long breath and gave a short sigh before looking up at Cassandra's face. “I will try to explain, if that's what you really want.”

Suddenly, he seemed awfully serious. So serious that Cassandra nearly turned his offer down in alarm, heart racing a bit. The book had left her with a lot of questions, but only concerning the unfortunate couple; the rest of the plot had been tied up well enough that it could be ended, or continued if the author saw fit. But the spy and the warrior were not touched on again, which was the final straw for her when she finished the book not half an hour ago.

“Yes. Please.” She spoke calmly.

“Alright then. Bear with me.. Lets start with their cruelties. When the Constable first takes Cedric, its obvious they don't like each other. Who would? I know I sure didn't like you at first. But he learned she had good reasons, that she was a good person and was trying to help the Knight-Captain all along. And she learns that he is extremely cunning and could have escaped from her at any given time, but stayed to help them, and he makes her laugh. Their name-calling became a playful game. A lot like us, eh?” Varric held her gaze steadily, watching her response. It was an interested nod, not the understanding reaction he was hoping for. He sighed and continued.

“As for why a dedicated soldier and a sneaky rogue would learn to care for each other.. Well, after some time, she doesn't treat him like a prisoner and he doesn't feel like one. They become allies, they share stories, they learn that they think similarly. Like in the part where they agree about the Viscount's Ball and who murdered the Chantry Sister.” He watched Cassandra smile as she remembered that section of the story. “They make each other smile. It makes sense that they would form some.. affection, wouldn't it?”

Cassandra considered it for a moment, looking down as she processed his words. A gentle nod and a small, oddly hopeful smile, and she looked back to him. “It does.” The smile fell. “But affection for a comrade does not mean you should bed them.”

Varric sighed. “That is true too. But it wasn't just a friendship, Cassandra. They saw bloody battle together, solved mysteries, helped the hero save the day. They spent nearly every waking moment together, even when he was in chains. They had a _bond_.” Varric strongly emphasized the last word, leaning forward.

It seemed the gravity of his explanation was beginning to sink in, as Cassandra's eyes widened slowly as he spoke. She shifted in her chair, lips parting and closing as she began to speak and decided otherwise multiple times. The dwarf stared at her, eyebrows furrowing as he mentally willed her to understand. The book was meant to be a confession of sorts for her to read after his departure, which made her confusion at it all rather frustrating.

“How could the rogue fall in love with the warrior that kidnapped him, regardless of their bond? Was he mad?” Cassandra's accent made her whispers a little hard to hear, but Varric had learned to understand after so long.

“No. Well maybe, but no more than she was.” Varric smiled at her sudden chuckle. “The rogue had never known someone like her. She didn't take anyone's shit. She got things done no matter how unpleasant. She wasn't afraid of what she had to do but was hopeful. She was thoughtful. Kind. Kinder than she is willing to admit. She is beautiful, and caring. She is the best thing the rogue could ask for, and he _loves_ her.”

Cassandra stared at him for several long moments, mouth agape as she absorbed his praises. His shifting from past to present tense had caused a wave of awareness and certainty to roll through her mind, kicking her heart into a rushing pulse. Suddenly she was re-evaluating every word the dwarf had said to her since receiving the book, finding the tiny hidden meanings in their normal conversations. As more pieces fell into place, her skin darkened with pink and rose.

Her mouth sealed into a grimace before she spoke. “And what about the, um, thief’s guild alchemist?”

“An important person in his life. Probably always will be. But not nearly as important as the strong willed warrior has become.”

They sat in quiet, distant clashing of practicing blades the only interruption of silence. Both of them could feel the pressure building, frustrated and uncomfortable. Varric watched Cassandra study the lines in the wooden table, breathing deep and obviously controlled.

“Cassandra, I-”

And she was on her feet, pressing her hips into the table as she bent over it. Strong fingers gripped Varric's shoulders and roughly pulled him forward. Her expression was wild, eyes searching his face for reaction as she whispered to him.

“You are indeed very good with words. Even I have fallen for your stories, Varric.”

“Every story is based off of some truth. This one happened to be more true than the rest.” He spoke in response, smiling, setting his knees on the table and moving closer to her, which eased her grip. “I daresay it might be the truest I have ever written. After all, they're a lot like us, eh?”

The Seeker took a shaking breath, nervous with the closeness and intimate talk. She studied Varric's face with darting looks, choking out strained words. “I.. believe that to be correct.” Her eyes fell on his mouth, and she took another shuddering inhale, softly biting her own bottom lip.

That one motion was too much. Varric closed the short distance between them, pressing his lips against hers, both hands gripping her outer arms possessively. Cassandra froze, her heartbeat hammering so hard she could almost feel it thumping against her breastplate. Her grip on his shoulders relaxed, mostly due to shock, hands relaxing to brace gently against his chest.

Despite its suddenness, the kiss was soft, respectful, and it didn't take long for her to relax into returning it timidly. She felt his smile against her lips and her blush heated her cheeks anew, as if it had given much pause in her embarrassment. One of his gloved hands rose to cup her jaw, and he left her mouth to trail kisses across her scarred cheek and temple. After a lingering peck on her eyebrow, which he had to stretch some for, he withdrew to see her face.

Varric had never seen the Seeker wear such a smile, so soft and warm. His heart swelled in his chest, close to bursting with his joy at making it. Cassandra watched him in a like manner, seeing his eyes, usually masked with humor, to shine genuine and loving. Realizing she was staring, she suddenly straightened and lifted one of her hands from his chest, covering her mouth while she cleared her throat.

“I.. I understand now, Varric. Thank you for explaining it to me. I am glad that.. the _Constable_ was forgiven.” Cassandra fought to regulate her voice to its usual strength, not completely succeeding.

“For the abduction?” Varric grinned. “Oh no, she hasn't been. She has to earn it.” He teased her, grabbing her loose hand and stealing another quick kiss from her, and then planting one on the armor covering her fingers. “You'll make it up to me, Seeker.”

He hopped down from the table and collected _Swords and Shields_ where it had been pushed to stumble onto the floor. Grinning like a fool, he tucked it under his other arm and turned towards the staircase. “It still needs editing, like I said. I'll give you the finished copy when its done. See you later.”

Cassandra watched him descend the steps, half-leaning on the table though full of adrenaline. When she was certain he had gone far enough, she laughed breathlessly and sunk back into her chair. Damned if the dwarf wasn't charming. 


	10. Charming the Inquisition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter to move things along. We're getting into solutions that will bring more problems and more solutions. I completely re-wrote this chapter twice because I couldn't find a good way to jump back into the action, so a little more of the meeting and some tension. Next chapter will hopefully be very exciting.

Alistair looked up from where he was quietly re-following his old adventures on the War Table's map, listening only for key words as the arguments had started to become cyclical. What had caught his attention was the word 'charms', which was being used by Iron Bull sarcastically.

“I don't use _just_ my charms to rally the Chargers, Boss.”

“We did. Actual charms.” The Warden spoke up and everyone paused in wonder; most of Alistair's responses so far has been small puns or disapproving snorts. “Although they did have the Maker behind it, sort of.”

The Inquisitor looked up from the tablet that Josephine held between them, unimpressed.“Well, there's your first mistake, Alistair.” Her voice came smooth and unbroken, but tinged with her annoyance. It had been another hour or so, she wasn't entirely sure, and her spur of energy was driving her to impatience and social miscue. She felt strong, sharp, but pressed to finish the damned thing and continue with.. well, something. She wasn't sure about that either.

“Hear me out- When I was traveling with my lovely wife during the Blight, we ended up helping Redcliffe save itself. We did everything we could to get them as prepared as possible, even got the tavern keeper to treat the militia, but it wasn't until we got these little charms from Mother Hannah did they seem _ready_.”

Leliana snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “I remember those. They did nothing to help the townspeople.”

“Nothing physically, perhaps, but you can't deny that they seemed more confident with the idea of the Maker's blessing. We did well that night, Leliana. It could have been much worse without them.”

“I suppose. But Rhawlin is correct in that the Maker's blessing is exactly what we cannot promise.” Leliana locked eyes with her former companion, not pleased with where he might be taking the idea.

“Yes, yes. We've all agreed that its best if Rhawlin not accept, deny, or address any of the Herald claims, but a lot of soldiers are going to believe her to be holy anyway. Instead of the Maker, why not promise the favor of the Inquisition? It would mean whatever to whoever.”

Cullen turned to look at the other man standing just feet from him, shifting his grip that rested passively on the hilt of his sword. “Whatever to whoever? The Inquisition isn't some almighty force to base your beliefs on.”

Rhawlin spoke then, stepping away from Josephine and back towards the table that her people circled. “No it isn't, but it is something to believe _in_. That is exactly what we want. After all this talk it is obvious we can't promote anything but ourselves. Let's face it; we've used our connections, spies, forces, our actions, our wonders and they still need something for themselves to believe in us. Our soldiers need something _personal_. We've gone through a lot of well thought-out, complex and honest ideas to solve this wavering of morale. Why not something simple?”

“Simple, how?” Solas spoke up, which he had only done when appropriate, from his standing position crosswise across the table from the Inquisitor

“Like, well... Alistair said something about charms. Something that they can hold or wear.” She felt the weight of the blood charm beneath her top, bottle pressed between her breasts as a constant reminder of Solas and her own silly choices. “When Andrastians hold it and think about what the Inquisition means to them, they may think of the Maker just as some of the elves who have joined us might think of Elgar'nan or Mythal. Templars might think of duty, mages may think of freedom, but everyone will undoubtedly think of the Inquisition.”

“Can we be so certain? It could simply come off as a silly little bauble.” Solas pressed and Rhawlin glared at him.

“Its not as though I'm just handing out necklaces.” She barked at him. Despite no longer being uncomfortable with his attendance, her patience was shorter with him than with anyone else present. However she found it to be an extremely acceptable alternative. “If we were to do this, there would more than likely be a formal announcement.”

“This could work, if you chose the words correctly.” Josephine spoke from behind her tablet, never looking from it. “It isn't as drastic as I assumed the solution would be, but possibly just what we need. The trinkets would be gifts from the Inquisition and thus from you, and if you told them they were tokens of your favor, it could certainly help put the soldiers in a better place.”

“But if we fail or so many die, their trust in us would be completely ruined.” Cullen spoke in a drained tone.

“If we fail, it won't matter. We'll be dead and worse.” Rhawlin's annoyed voice became mellowed some as she took in Cullen's tired words and expression, remembering her trip in time with Dorian that seemed like so long ago. “And, well, this is war. None of our people are disposable, but it is childish to think that no one will fall.”

Iron Bull straightened from where he was bending over the opposite side of the War Table, hands braced against the imagery of The Free Marches. “Are you sure this will work? I have to agree with Solas, Boss. Amulets aren't going to inspire anything if there's nothing, y'know, _different_ about them. The Warden and her people used the name of the Maker. You have your own title.”

“I don't think I'll need more than that. Like Alistair said, the faithful will believe me holy regardless, so to them the charms would already be _different_. For the elves that follow the Pantheon and the agnostic, like some of the surface dwarves, my title is all I have. My actions, decisions and my _power_ are attached to that title. If all they see if a token of my appreciation and trust, and not an item of protection from some divine source, then we've still succeeded. But..” The Inquisitor stopped to look down at the flickering light of her Mark. “They should know that this power, whatever it is and whatever they believe in, is for them. Their lives. And that I will use it to set all of this right. They need to trust in me, us, The Inquisition.”

“Perhaps the touch of your mark will satisfy the mages, if they are adept enough to feel for it on their token.” Solas added, resolved.

Iron Bull twisted his mouth in thought, looking up as if observing the thoughts that played in his head. “Then maybe use _your_ charm, _the_ charms, and your _Mark_..”

 

 

 

Three and a half hours and the meeting finally ended. Its members filed from Josephine's office with mild chatter and long stretches, emptying into the quiet Throne Room. Varric looked up from a pile of parchment on his usual table, grinning his relief to see them all acting at ease. Rhawlin made a few more comments amongst her advisers before turning to look at him, her eyes bright and full of odd energy. The red elf took a few starting steps towards him before Solas called to her.

“Rhawlin, Inquisitor, if I may. There was one more matter I wish to speak to you and Lady Montilyet about.” He spoke loud enough to draw back the entire small committee's attention, and a few lingering nobles'. Josephine was beside him in a moment, prompt and professional with her scribing pad at attention and chatting quietly with Solas. The dwarf's smile slipped some as he watched for his friend's reaction, concerned that Rhawlin's fragile spirit might make a fool of her. But he saw nothing but a slight curl of her lip before she turned to them, only feet away from her.

“We should address the rumor, Inquisitor.” The ambassador spoke quietly as the two elves stepped in a little closer to her, though her disapproving gaze fell upon to the two blonde ex-templars, who were brazen with their eavesdropping attention. They moved away a bit and she turned back to the elves.

“I do not know who started it but it should definitely be resolved. The easiest way is for Solas to make a public apology and to swear fealty.” Josephine spoke in her usual matter-of-fact tone. The red elf smirked, feeling her defiant energy fuel the wicked pleasure she received from imagining it.

“I did nothing wrong.” Solas spoke, unoffended but unwilling to accept it as the resolution. Rhawlin's hard golden gaze locked onto his face, angry and defiant with her wild energy.

It was then she realized that she had done much to avoid looking directly at his eyes, even after her prayers, or she would have noticed the exhaustion in them. Never had she seen Solas look so tired, though only his eyes would show it. Just watching them calmed her, seeming to coat her thrumming body with the his lethargy. She took a small, huffing breath, relinquishing the traces of her anger but unwilling to relax her new-found vitality.

“Option two, Josephine?” She grumbled.

“Well, you could claim him not of the Inquisition. A hireling or mercenary, upset over his wage. However.. a lot of Haven's remaining soldiers remember him from before Haven fell, and he is by your side a lot. It'd be hard to pass.”

“Option three?”

“Well.. you duel.” Josephine shifted her weight uncomfortably, breaking her well-trained regal posture.

“Is that the only other option?” Rhawlin asked, miserable and excited at the idea of actually fighting the rift mage.

“Perhaps not, I haven't had time to sit and think of a creative solution. But this should be dealt with quickly, today if possible.”

“What would happen if I won this duel?” Solas asked with a tiny smile.

“You would be elevated to an adviser's position, or forced to leave. But it will of course be held against the Inquisitor's image no matter how we approach it.”

“We can't allow that. So much depends on what people think of me right now.” Rhawlin spoke with pride and harshness.

“Do you worry, _lethallan_? Surely you are not scared to challenge me.” He teased, lighthearted.

“Scared? I have nothing else to fear from you, _falon_.” She spat the elven with malice, sneering. Josephine looked between them as they spurred each other in their shared language, trying to follow somewhat with her limited knowledge on elven. She sighed in yielding and began to scrawl.

“Duel it is. We should refine the reasoning behind it, so the people do not have the idea that your people would challenge you.”

“We could say he _pissed me off_ so I'm gonna _kick his ass._ How's that?” Rhawlin growled her response, her arms lifting as if to grab at daggers that were not there.

Solas grimaced to see the woman act so violently. Even as he was breaking her heart, she spoke of hope and love, and had not spoken in anger to him since. He had never known her to be violent without real reason, opting to use her mind over her blades when she could. Her behavior now was agitated, rushed and ferocious, willful beyond sense. Perhaps challenging her was the wrong choice.

“How about, instead of that, we imply you asked for his help in defending against magic training?” Josephine watched the Inquisitor with widened, worried eyes.

“Fine, fine, make it sound as pretty as you like. And please send me word, along with the price predictions for the medals. Thank you, Josie.” She let her molten gaze linger on the other elf for several seconds before she turned away, stomping over to Varric.

Solas stared after her, feeling a compulsion to follow and shadow his love, anxious to protect her in a way he never had before. Josephine spoke some farewell words, to which he quietly replied, as he continued to watch Rhawlin, venting her frustrations to the dwarf in hushed tones.

Although he kept a blank facade, being so tired was weighing heavily on his mind as well as his body. The exhaustion came on slowly as he listening to the rabble of religious talk, even as he found himself excited by Rhawlin's authoritative command over the proceedings, and he was drained by the end of it. Despite that he often longed to return to sleep to visit the Fade, it was far less often he thought to nap for the sake of his physical energy. Feeling tired was almost foreign, especially with as much sleep as he had had, and something he did not appreciate. Without another word, he walked to the entrance of his quarters, knowing the ambassador would send for him if anything concerning the duel came up.

The elf man curled himself up on the small couch in his room, turning to bury his face between a throw pillow and the plush back. His last waking thoughts were of Rhawlin's willful eyes, glinting like the eyes of a prowling wolf.

 

“-it was just so _rude_ , Varric. He thinks so _highly_ of himself, its disgusting.” Rhawlin was grumbling to her friend who sat caddy-corner of her, listening with an interested nod every now and then. “I'm not saying he isn't skilled but damn, its like he wants me to hate him.”

“Maybe he does. Or maybe he knows what Dorian and I know.” Varric responded with a light voice.

“Yeah? What's that?”

“That you've been too nice. Spent a lot of energy pretending nothing was wrong, avoiding the things that might make it look it was. Or people.” He reminded her of her aversion to Cole. “It would have been okay to give him some 'tude now and then. Now its all bunched up with other things and its even harder to be around him. Although...”

Rhawlin had listened with an open mind, always willing if not looking forward to hearing the opinions of her beloved dwarf, so her question came calm and considering. “Although?”

“Although you do seem a little... wound up, Scarlet. I thought you'd be sick as hell today, but you're basically vibrating with energy.”

The elf shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond to him. “Yeah, well, you seem in high spirits for the day as well.”

Varric couldn't stop the dumb smile from curving his lips. “I was feeling a bit sick this morning but.. sometimes you just have a good day.”

She watched him with slowly narrowing eyes, arms raising to cross over her chest as she studied him. “..A good day, huh?”

Varric lifted a brow at her, his smile becoming playful and proud. Rhawlin knew of his feelings mostly for Cole's jabbering after the three of them had taken a trip shopping in Val Royeaux. Rhawlin had called it their “Dumb Little Family's Shopping Spree”, an excuse to instruct Cole on some nuances of human culture. It was a small jewelry stand, a ruby on a silver band that had caught the dwarf's attention, and there was no longer any secrecy concerning his feelings for Cassandra as Cole blabbed.

Rhawlin understood the dwarf's look after a moment, mimicking his smile and leaning back in her chair. “No way. Really?”

He nodded to her, and suddenly the fiery will was gone. As quickly as it had come, the wild energy drained from her, leaving her smiling and pleasantly excited with her friend's news. It was as if it were a candle flame that had been blown out, gone in a snap, sudden and almost painful in its departure. It left her on the cusp of her emotional upswing, so she almost did not notice if not for the mild pain, but felt no grief for losing the drive in the wake of such sweet disclosures.

They chatted about the Seeker for a few minutes, Varric speaking of his plans to romance her and Rhawlin giving small, encouraging tips. They came to pause after laughing at some teasing joke, and she spoke.

“Oh. Tonight I will be hosting a.. party, of sorts, in my quarters. I would appreciate it if you would spread the word to The Inner Circle.”

“A party? What are we celebrating?”

She took a long breath and let it out as a pleased sigh. “Finding some solutions.”


	11. Warring Blades to Match Their Hearts

 Sunset painted the sky in a gradient of pink to lavender, leaving a peaceful background for the dark, sharp shapes of Skyhold's rooftops. Scattered orange clouds reflected the remaining drops of sunlight, dotting the sky with warmth though the air was still and brisk. It was a mild, peaceful evening, at least to those who didn't circle around the training grounds. Or were far enough away from the raucous to enjoy it.

The Inquisitor stood in the middle of the grounds, in a circle made of flimsy wooden fences and pressing, rowdy soldiers. They had been waiting for her for at least an hour, or so Josephine had informed her, excited to see the two powerhouse elves in action. Rhawlin listened to them as they took bets, laughed, cheered and even bemoaned the affair for their leader's sake.

The odd, pressing drive that pushed her through the meeting had left her hours ago, during midday, so she found herself not only patient, but amused with her people's dispositions. It gave a lighter side to a worrisome task, that she didn't realized was worrisome until after Varric had shooed her to continue his writing. She found herself preparing to train, considered if it not best to save her energy for the duel, and realized.. she was going to _duel_ with _Solas_. Since that realization she had spent her time in Josie's office, doing small tasks for her and absolutely avoiding making any sort of prayer.

Being without that odd surging of power made her wary of it, of her Mark and of Fera's advice. Weeks of a warring mind, heart, and spirit made all three unwilling to attempt prayer again, for the result would be distressing either way. Either there would be nothing, and she would crumble under the weight of so many lost beliefs, or Fera would be right, and the Dread Wolf would grant her some sort of power as he might have done before, and she would have to decide if the possibly wicked power was worth whatever price He asked.

Josephine's stately voice called to her, and Rhawlin looked up from the soldiers she had been idly scanning in thought. She moved to the edge of the circle where the ambassador waited, leaning against the feeble wood.

“Yes, Josie?” She spoke to her with a gentle smile, though the Antivan woman was far less jubilant.

“It is not the end of the world if Solas were to beat you, but I must stress that it would be far less embarrassing to your title if he didn't. We would survive it, of course, but you would save me more trouble by defeating him.”

“I can tell this is serious to you. Have you spoken to him about it at all?”

“I did mention it to him after he awoke earlier this afternoon. He said he understood, but that you must face him with all that you can. I don't think he will let this be easy.” The ambassador's dark brows came together in concern.

Rhawlin sighed softly. “Try not to worry, Josie. I'm sure he won't let it get too far, if I'm not good enough to stand against him.”

Josephine nodded solemnly, once, before the crowd of men and women erupted in more cheering and laughter. Solas approached them, carrying a Seer staff made of dragonbone and great bear hide, decorated with darkened samite. His usual casual clothes, including bare feet, left him unprotected and greatly annoyed the Inquisitor. She looked down at the red hart leather prowler coat that hung over her pyjamas, scowling.

They parted for him as the elf mage entered the ring through a small gap of fence, soldiers murmuring, barely able to contain their excitement. Solas ignored them, for the most part, as his eyes found Rhawlin lingering by the opposite edge, as far from him as possible in the confined space.

When Solas woke that afternoon, he spoke to a few of the Inner Circle along with the ambassador about the coming altercation between their leader and himself, or if he should even take part. It had taken some prying and careful questions before Varric, partly to blame for his amorous stupor, and Sera, who actually took little prodding, spilled what they could about Rhawlin's mindset.

The rogue dwarf reluctantly disclosed to Solas that Rhawlin probably needed to work out her feelings in a physical way, since she was prone to avoiding violence if it did not further anything. She had internalized a thousand griefs from her life in light of new hopes, trusting she was giving up everything over and over for the chance at something better and true. Sera easily repeated to him how 'absolute fucking shite' he was for the way he handled Rhawlin and her beliefs, remarking how astounding it was that their leader hadn't punched him in his pointy cheeks yet. Josephine came to him last, apparently having been seeking him, and pleading he reconsider swearing fealty.

Now he watched his love, meek and doubtful as she had been in the past months, and resolved to take this fight as seriously as he would a bout with demons. He would battle her as an adversary she deserved.

“Shall we, _lethallan_?” He asked, taking a few cautious steps towards her.

“It's too late to back down now, though you had your chance, Elven Adviser, Ser.” She feigned her confidence very well, loud enough for the crowding soldiers to hear and applaud.

“Then let us teach them how a skilled mage and a master rogue would be in battle, offensively and defensively.”

Dawnstone sang as Rhawlin withdrew two dual bladed daggers, rose colored metal glinting in the setting sun in a shining harmony with the evening sky. Against her red hand, palm wrapped with black dyed grips, they glimmered like long, flushed diamonds. She spun the daggers in her hands with very little effort, nimble fingers twisting the blades once, twice, three times before she settled into an offensive stance.

Solas parted his feet, a flick of his wrist sending his long staff spiraling around his arm, where he flexed the muscles in his arm to stop and hold in place. His grip found it again near the top, easier to control where it would point, and held it down at a slight angle. Eyes narrowed to a glare, though seeming devoid of actual emotion, and watched his foe for her movement.

They seemed to occur simultaneously, a rush of the Fade and a flurry of daggers, Solas throwing up a barrier as Rhawlin rushed to drive Twin Fangs into his form. Neither were surprised by the others actions, and they glared at each other through a wavering haze of his defensive magic that caught her daggers half-way to the hilts. Her elbows came out as she twisted the blades, tearing small holes into the man's barrier. His magic never stopped flowing, but merely rushed passed the pockets like a river passed jutting stones. A growing chorus of cheers came from their audience.

The Inquisitor pushed her arms straight to angle the blades down, skilled hands turning them to pressed the bladed edge against the inside of the elf man's boundary. It exposed her grip just enough to be scalded by a simple blast from Solas' staff before she could rip the blades back through. When she felt the barrier give way, she took a defensive leap back to land softly, taking a moment to toss her heated daggers into the cooling air.

Solas gave her little paused, opening his arms to shoot a barrage of fire from his aura of fade magic. Rhawlin grimaced, steeling herself to face down the rushing blaze until the right time. She Skirmished just before they would have hit, rushing passed them when they were close enough that they could not turn and pursue her, instead crashing into the ground. Solas felt her behind his back a moment before the shining pink blade narrowly missed his ribs for his dodge. As he turned to face his adversary, he found his vision edged with shadows that did not belong. Rhawlin was no longer there.

A blur of red came rushing at his side, but a graceful spin of his waist and staff stuck the thin end of it into the ground. Rhawlin flinched and froze as she felt the dragon bone of Solas' staff pressing against her right hip and bracing behind her left ankle. Both hands gripped the top of his weapon to hold it still as his dancing steps turned him back around, his back to the rogue and hands above his head. The red elf did not have time to wonder his plans, as he swung the staff over his shoulders with strength that did not match him, flinging her tiny body a short distance into the air.

Rhawlin landed firmly on her ass, the force snapping her teeth shut on her tongue. She swallowed the taste of copper, trying to block out the sound of the balking and disappointed jeers from her people. It didn't take long for her to be back on her feet, staring at Solas' smug smile through a renewed barrier. Point, Solas.

It replayed through her head once or twice, her bloodied mouth forgotten as she grimaced her displeasure with being checked. The crimson trickled slowly down her chin, tickling, distracting, and she spat the remnants onto the ground with disgust. Imagining that he might actually beat her, though she had always considered it a very real option, made melancholy rise in her like bile.

Despair, anger, _vengeance_ \- they drove her to consider beliefs she had been assured were wrong. Josephine's worries, along with her own curiosity, drove her to a point of desperation. Raising her hand against the person she only longed to hold drove her to breaking. With a growl, she lifted her daggers and took a mad dash at Solas, awkwardly dodging his fire blasts as she went.

_Elgar'nan, Wrath and Thunder. Give me glory. Give me victory._

There was no tingling, no wave of relief, only another wound on her ragged spirit that faltered her head-on arrogance. Rhawlin's right dagger sank into the barrier and tore through it as she ran passed him at the last minute. Pivoting on her foot brought her facing his back, fists gripping hilts swinging to charge at his shoulders with intent. Her own indecision left Solas confused on her actions, but not enough for him not to counter, jumping forward and avoid her simple stabs. With his turn to face her came his gripped fist, glowing with eerie magic, that swung down through the air.

Veilstrike forced The Inquisitor to her knees, a luminous but incredibly solid fist falling on her from the sky. Her breath caught as she fought not to let it flatten her, cringing muscles shaking with the effort.

 _Mythal_ , she thought, recalling the shifting watery form in the Well of Sorrows during Corypheus' assault. _Protect me, if you find my cause just._

The Anchor did not fluctuate, there was no swelling in her power. Rhawlin grimaced, waiting for relief from the pressure or for her body to give.

Solas frowned some as he felt his magic interrupted, the large magic fist and his own barrier scattering in sparkles to the wind. His instincts brought his eyes to a far edge of the rambunctious crowd where two woman stood, chatting only loud enough to hear each other. Morrigan looked up from the conversation with the kitchen maid, Faye, who jabbered on about the duel. The witch's saffron eyes narrowed as they looked back into his, full of arrogance and mild disdain. His sight fell onto her hand at her side, covered in a green, magic aura of dispel.

There. Relief. Rhawlin looked up in amazement, mouth agape, to find what miracle had brought her the pause. Her brows came together in confusion to see Solas' attention divided, his face distorted in anger. Corypheus was the first thing to come to her mind, the reality of his threat draining some blood from her face. Following his line of sight brought her to Morrigan, who seemed to be engaged with one of the kitchen maids she saw every day. Did the witch's mere presence enthrall him so, that he would allow a foe to return from a crippling blow?

The same blood that left her pale in fear returned, and then some, her entire face becoming maroon in anger. Blonder freckles dotted her skin like the stars that were beginning to twinkle behind the mountains.

“Pay attention!” Her shout came scraping, growling and ferocious, her body racing for the elf man with blades baring in hatred. “ _Halam sahlin, elvha'rrelan!_ ”

The first few swipes of her attacks were dodged well enough, but Solas seethed as he felt one of the sharpened blades bite into his hip. It gave him enough space to point the narrow end of his staff in Rhawlin's face, firing a quick shot of fire, followed by more as he spun around his staff.

The first blast singed her hair and warmed her silver circlet passed comfort, catching the end of her plaidsweave ribbon aflame. As she ducked, bowed and danced her body around his shots, she used her left blade to cut the ribbon and pull off the circlet with one movement, although not without sacrificing a few thicker strands of her hair. With it gone, she started towards him, sliding passed a few more shots, before kicking herself into the air.

Small feet slammed into his chest with astounding force, sending him fumbling backwards with the strain not to fall. Rhawlin growled at Solas' persistence as she landed softly, frustrated that he did not fall as easily as she had hoped. Her elbows tucked back, blades pointed away, and she rushed forward. The mage's hands sparked even as he still fought to use his staff for balance, and a bolt lept at the rogue as she moved. It struck her, jerking her head back with the impact and sending sparks down her body.

Rhawlin's steps faltered but did not cease and she continued to rush at Solas as best as her body could, with fury contorting her face and fueling her fight. Her muscles hardened for impact as she slammed her shoulder into his diaphragm, forcing his breath in a harsh gasp and sending him barreling backwards to land on his back. Point, Rhawlin.

Solas recovered himself after a few rushing breaths, coughing as he used his staff to stand. He watched Rhawlin gasping, her body slowly relaxing from the attack. He smiled some, watching the angry energy seep somewhat from her features. He only had a moment after she noticed him watching her and the red elf's muscles re-wound for another charge.

Rhawlin barraged him with sloppy but swift jabs of her daggers, the force behind them driven with her adrenaline. Solas could almost see the gears of her mind working behind her eyes, faster than her body could really keep up. It made the slashes easy enough to dodge, but he heard the dawnstone screech as it sliced through the air.

He lunged back, throwing up a barrier as her relentless onslaught started to make him nervous. The defense didn't last long, her wild strikes tearing it down within a minute, giving him only enough time to focus a dangerous attack on the girl. He looked at Morrigan one last time, glowering at her confident expression. See the witch stop this.

Rhawlin was tossed as a large, flaming stone fell from above, smashing into the ground only feet from her. She landed in a crouch, sliding to a stop to watch the elf man's magic start to rain from the sky.

“GET BACK!” The Inquisitor screeched to her soldiers, most of which heeded without question. The few that lingered shouted in surprised while dirt and rocks spattered on them, two more meteors crashing into the training ring. The crowd of them moved several yards back, to what they deemed a safer distance, and watched in silence.

Rhawlin quickly ducked behind the bigger of the fallen rocks, careful not to press herself against the hot surface. It was shield enough as more of the blasted things hailed heavier from the sky. Taking gasping breaths, she dared a peek at Solas on his feet.

He glared at Rhawlin, but a softness in his brow betrayed the sorrow he had for attacking the Inquisitor so harshly. She held his eyes for a moment, glaring in return, not bothering to hide the confusion behind the golden orbs. He was leaving her with very few options; being a short-ranged fighter meant she had to get close to him, to brave the falling meteors. A small gasp escaped her as she dove for another chilling boulder nearby, barely escaping being crushed.

The red elf's eyes shut tight, willing herself to think of a way to get to him, to end this ridiculous magic, to take him _down_. Blending into the invisibility would do little help against the random pattern of falling rocks, and she had no way to know where another would fall without the sun casting shadows. Rhawlin nearly roared her frustration, her hands shaking with the tight grip on her daggers.

_Fen'Harel! Help me be cunning, to protect my title and deliver justice!_

Solas stared at where he knew where Rhawlin was cowering, focusing on fueling the Firestorm in the sky with a steady flow of his aura. It wasn't pain or pleasure, but an odd feeling bubbled in his chest and heart right as a green burst of light drowned out the orange of falling flames from behind the silhouette of her defensive meteor. His eyebrows furrowed as he watched the light shoot into the sky, right under the rift of his storm, to tear open another, far more powerful rift under the power of the Inquisitor's mark. It felt as though his very magic was being sucked outwards, towards the rift or maybe the Inquisitor herself. He grunted in worry and tried to slow his spell.

The strategy flooded her mind, quieting her worries behind numb, methodical thinking in an instant. No sooner had she finished her prayer did she lift her hand, palm-up into the air, and will the magic of the Anchor to tear open a rift. Power poured from her in a way it never had before, flowing and strong as if it had always been hers. The rift swallowed the falling stones for just long enough, allowing Rhawlin to lose herself in the shadows and sprint towards her foe.

Pink blades pressed against the elf man's throat and damaged ribcage and he straightened rigidly in surprise. The final meteor smashed into the earth, leaving the air silent after such powerful pounding. Rhawlin leaned into his neck from behind, her gasping breath hot against his ear.

“Surrender, please. I did not want to fight you, and I do not want to continue doing so. I know your spells as well as you know my tactics, but I know I will strike you down. I see it as fact in my head, a history yet to be written that _does not need to be_.”

Solas took a deep breath, testing the limits of his love's resolve. He got his answer when she held the blades still, slicing into the skin right under his adam's apple just slightly. Her words reminded him of something long ago, and he loathed to find his mind working slower than was normal. The entire resolution of their fight left him with questions that _needed_ answers. He let the breath out as a sigh and shouted.

“I surrender, Inquisitor.”

A moment of surprised silence, and the crowd of soldiers began to rush the training grounds. Rhawlin stepped back, withdrawing her blades, and watched Solas as he turned to face her while gingerly touching the small wound on his throat.

“Good job, Inquisitor. I might have had you.”

She scoffed, sheathing her blades with sharp movements. “You will be in my quarters after dinner tonight. It is mandatory.”

Rhawlin went to her people with a blank face, allowing them to envelope her while shouting questions and congratulations. She spoke apologies to them for the damage, assuring them that very few mages worked with the rifts and that she would make sure they never faced them. Josephine pushed her way through the rabble, greeting the Inquisitor with a relieved and joyous smile. She walked with her, helping to answer questions and leading them to the keep. Amidst the celebrating soldiers, Rhawlin whispered quietly to herself.

“Thank you, Dread Wolf.”

Solas watched the large group of people celebrate and scatter and start to play music, a mysterious relief filling him that oddly only made him more anxious.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing fight scenes.


	12. Accuse and Craft

Looking at the small collection of bottles on her desk forged a knot of guilt in Rhawlin's stomach. The news that her 'party' was anything but went over well with the five of her Inner Circle that sat scattered on her bedroom floor, along with Cullen in her desk chair. Three of her guests brought bottles of alcohol for the celebration, and instead were assigned tasks for help in the production of the Inquisition's charms.

It started with Cole, Dorian and Sera sitting in a semi-circle, two large burlap sacks of jingling medals in between them. The little circles were etched with the symbol of The Inquisition, though roughly shaped with sharp corners; Harritt and Dagna had rushed and worked together to create them so quickly. The three of them exchanged jokes, though Sera was often critical of Cole's naïve attempts, while using rough stones to smooth the sharper parts of the unfinished medals.

They passed the medals to Varric and Cassandra sitting on Rhawlin's bed, who talked in hushed teasing and small arguments. Cassandra held a large stack of papers and a quill, reading names out loud while Varric scrawled them on parchment slips and strung them with a needle and thread. Cassandra would check the name off the list, read another and tie Varric's tag to the hollowed out hoop on one of the medals. She had already spilled the ink bottle onto the floor, so it stayed on the bedside table by Varric, who teased her whenever he had to hold it out for her to dip.

Those, they would pass to Rhawlin, who sat on an old raggy sheet in front of the open balcony window. Right outside on her balcony was a flat, wide stone bowl full of glowing embers with three or four small, thin metal pokers balancing on the bowl's lip into the fire. With a heavily gloved hand, she'd take a glowing poker and etch the name on the tag into the edge of its corresponding medal. Cullen was lapping the lot of them, cutting and stitching strips of quality red fabric into thick ribbons with sharp clefts.

The red elf had intended it be a smooth production, but a certain mage had not yet shown. So when enough of the etched medals piled in the corner of her sheet, she would set down the pokers and grab a metal flask and a rag from a small pile nearby. Before opening the flask, she pulled the collar of her partially unbuttoned top to cover her nose and mouth, protecting her from the fumes. She poured metal polish from the flask into the rag and began working it into the medals, buffing each one until it was shiny and mostly dry, and setting them to finish on her sheet.

After they were sufficiently dried, she'd pull the glove from her glowing hand and grip each and every one of the medals in it. Pressing each to her Mark, allowing a small ripple of power from it to coat them, and silently willing them bring  _something_ , was all the blessing she could bestow. Those, she took to Cullen, who threaded the ribbons through the hoops and stitched them into place.

Their pace amazed her, and the finished things began piling in small crates that Cullen had labeled for their different platoons. It was a dent, but not even half of of them were finished and Rhawlin could tell her people were wearing out.

"Why don't we open one of those bottles, have a break? Cullen, I believe I have some glasses in that bottom drawer."

It was the first thing anyone had said out loud beyond their little groups in at least an hour, and all of them looked up from their tasks with smiles. Cullen pulled a small trunk from the deep bottom drawer of The Inquisitor's desk, brushing some specks of dust from the top.

"This?" He asked her. The Commander opened it after her affirming nod, pulling out long glass flutes with scenes etched in silver cupping the bowls and creating the handles. He recognized the halla grazing, flowers in flowing grass, a stream that narrowed down into the stem of the glasses, all expertly sculpted onto the silver. All but one of the glasses were in pristine condition, and the one that wasn't had a single, thin scratch down the glass.

"These are very well made, Inquisitor." Cullen complimented, setting them all onto the desk and turning to inspect the labels on the bottles. He picked the one that he had brought, considering it the best, and opened it carefully. "One of them is scratched, though."

"Ah yes. They were a gift from my mentor a long time ago. He told me the scratched one was used to poison, since its not very easy to see when filled with wine. You'd miss it if you weren't looking for it, so an assassin could know exactly which glass was deadly."

Sera leapt to her knees from her cross-legged position, excited. "Ooh, ooh I want to drink from that one!"

Cullen looked at the Inquisitor with a questioning frown, as if asking if the glass was safe for use. Rhawlin chuckled lightly and nodded, wordless. Seven of the thin flutes were filled with a thick, crimson liquor and passed out among the group of them.

Sera and Dorian clinked their glasses happily and drank their wine, albeit at far different paces; Sera spent some time admiring the scratch on her empty glass before it got refilled. Varric held his glass out to the Seeker, one brow raised, an affectionate smile curling his lips. Blush stained her cheeks nearly as red as the wine and she looked at her lap to hide it, gently clinking her glass against his as she did. Cullen and Rhawlin took small sips while spending several minutes apologizing to Cole as the spiritual boy found the drink very unpleasant. Even so, in the course of the long night, he would eventually finish a whole glass. They sat in close quarters, laughing and enjoying each others company while their heads slowly swam.

 

 

The Garden had been his first and last stop in the search for Morrigan, which were several hours apart. Solas had hunted the witch in and around Skyhold for a while, starting as soon as he had healed his wounds from the duel and ending far late for Rhawlin's gathering. Unlike his first visit among the flowers, he found the witch standing in the stone gazebo, watching him approach with heavy eyes.

"I am certain that you must have ill feelings for me, creature. I wish I could say I regretted having to do it, but that would simply be untrue." She spoke in tones that reflected her exhaustion, taking the first of the small steps out of the gazebo.

"Why did you interfere, swamp hag?" Solas' voice came thick with malice, fingers tightening around his staff.

"'Twas not entirely by my own choice, Fadewalker. Although I cannot deny some gratification from ceasing your idiocy, since you seem to understand far less about a woman's heart than I believed."

The elf snarled, taking an offensive step towards her. "What do you mean?"

"Did you believe that defeating her would help her, or the Inquisition?" The witch asked, her usual confident inflection lost to honest fatigue.

"I-.. Varric and Sera told me she needed to fight. The Inquisitor knows my abilities, and she would know if I held back."

"So you smash her with a giant fist? And rain flaming boulders on her? And did you forget the 'reason' you were fighting, to educate your soldiers?" Morrigan's voice took an annoyed uplift, frustrated that she needed to explain further.

Solas flinched with wounded pride, finding his wisdom short in areas that were basic to so many. "She deserved my best."

"She  _deserved_  for you to throw some slightly stronger spells and let her deflect them, and then let her punch you in the face twenty to a couple hundred times. And I would bet that if she were  _whole_ , she would  _never_  have needed help. Furthermore-"

Solas shook his head vigorously for a second, holding up his hand and interrupting the witch's rant. "It is over now, Morrigan, let it rest. She defeated me, her title is in tact, and she seemed far less disturbed by the end of it. What I want to know is, what do you mean it was not your choice?"

Morrigan smiled a bit, and even it was tired. "Do you forget so easily? I am sworn to Mythal. Someone, I might say the Inquisitor herself, asked Mythal for her protection. Although I do not  _want_  to heed that miserable woman, I had little choice."

The news brought a puzzled look to Solas' face, certain he had driven Rhawlin from worshiping the Elven Pantheon. He watched Morrigan's face in disbelief, waiting for her to falter and tease him for even remotely falling for her lies. It did not come.

"Look, creature, what is it you hope to gain from Lady Lavellan? You say she was not so disturbed, but you know that is not entirely true. Mythal's wisdom knows it is not true. Her eyes were glazed with a god's power when she held her blade to your throat, and 'twas not I that bestowed it."

"All that I want from the Inquisitor is the same that all want from her- Corypheus' death. There are  _no more gods_ , Morrigan. You may be bound to the remnants of Mythal's will, but that is all there is."

"You know both of those statements to be untrue, as well. In all I have studied, there is always at least one common theme: Fen'Harel survives. It would be extremely odd for a Dalish elf to pray to the Dread Wolf, though, and silly to think he would grant power without a cunning price. And I find it difficult to believe you such slime to feign falling in love? The magister's death is not all you desire. Whatever you are, love does not come simply to the otherworldly. You were indeed very lucky to find it easily, if you could say it was easy to face a giant tear in the Veil, and I would not discredit it so casually."

Solas was still and quiet, watching the woman while denying his primitive fight or flight response. Too much of what she struck struck cords in his heart and head, filling him with dread, realization and hope. It was all he could do not to flee from her in nerves, or shoot a bolt of lightening in frustration. Eventually, he spoke.

"Another common theme was that Fen'Harel lost his mind and went into seclusion. Look, even if he was real and has survived this long, and even if he wasn't insane, there are no longer conduits for the gods' magicks."

"I do not know why you think to lie to me. Rhawlin has informed me of the origins of the orb Corypheus carries. I would not dismiss it as Elgar'nan's, for his will might have survived as Mythal's has. But Rhawlin's blessing was not one of compulsion or binding, it was of power. Fen'Harel could supply that, and who's to say his conductor is gone? Maybe she has it?"

Solas shook his head again, fingers raising to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Do you hear yourself, woman? I will repeat; there are no more gods. If there were, Rhawlin has learned enough of their truth not to worship them. If for some reason she did, the Dread Wolf would not be among the worshiped. If you interrupt my spells again, I will turn them on you, and we'll see how far your shapeshifting gets you."

Morrigan glared at him, scowling as he turned and walked away from her. Solas would never tell her how many answers she had supplied him, in her theories alone. His trek back up to the keep was full of scheming and despair, considering the surfacing evidence that could destroy his lies and the little love the Inquisitor might have left for him.

 

 

Dorian flung open the Inquisitor's door, answering the late-night knock for his elven friend. He blinked in surprise to see Solas on the other side, a pleasant smile on his otherwise blank face.

"He finally showed up!" Dorian called up the stairs as Solas passed him, making his way up the stairs with the other mage on his heels. When he reached the top, he saw the mess of Rhawlin's room and the cheerful faces that greeted him. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, crowded around their project on the floor with wine glasses beside each of them.

"We're almost done!" Cole spoke up excitedly from his sitting position between The Inquisitor and Cullen, his mind warm with the small amount of drink he'd had. And true to his word, there were only about a fourth of the medallions remaining to be fixed. Despite the slight wooziness, they were all consistent in their crafting, though the etched names varied in their tiny font as the helpers switched jobs.

Cassandra sat with a leg draping over Varric's thigh, laughing at some teasing joke he'd just made. They waved, giving simple greetings as the two of them fumbled with some finishing stitches on ribbons. Sera, sitting on Cassandra's other side, was quickly going down the list of names and scribbling many of them on a larger parchment. The elf nodded in Solas' direction as she drew a small blade and sliced the parchment into tags. Cullen let an etching pole ease in his grip as he looked up from one of medals, moving to peek at Solas passed Dorian who moved to reclaim his seat by the Commander.

Rhawlin never lifted her gaze from her own etching, instead giving a curt welcome with a lack of slur that did not match her companions.

"Good of you to join us, now that so much is already done."

"I apologize, Inquisitor. I had some business to tend to." Solas spoke softly as he made his way into the mess, carefully avoiding discarded rags and broken pieces of metal. He sat opposite the Inquisitor, watching her carve letters into steel.

"Right. Well, you can start by polishing. It's everyone's least favorite job." The red elf never looked up to him, though he could see the small trembling in her hands.

Behind her, Cole had fetched the silver flask and a new rag, handing them over her shoulder to the elf man. Solas looked at the two items for several long moments before turning his confused gaze back to the compassionate boy. The assassin laughed, a sudden half-drunken yelp, and pointed at the small pile of tokens by Rhawlin's folded knee that had already been engraved. Solas emptied a bit of the polish into the rag, tentatively grabbed one of the medals and began to buff it.

The laughter that had previously filled the room was gone, leaving them in awkward silence. Sounds of scraping stone and tearing paper were heavy, looming over while the lot of them worked on the medals and staying quiet. Dorian only put up with it for a minute before he grabbed Rhawlin's empty glass and refilled it with the bottle that sat on the ground behind Cullen. Instead of returning it to their leader, he shoved it into Solas' face.

"You never do celebrate with us. Finish this quickly and I'll pour you another. You need to catch up."

Solas might have argued, if not for the seriousness he saw passed the Necromancer's playful gaze and the expectant looks of everyone else, including Rhawlin, who had given up on her etching to watch his decision. Drinking often made his travels through the Fade more difficult, dulling his senses even in dreams. There was so much to be figured out, answers that he sought, which was his true reason for still making an appearance despite being so late. He  _needed_ for the crafting to be done, for their companions to leave, and for Rhawlin to give him information. Yet he sat in a circle of people that accepted him for all that they knew and urged him to join them in festivity, and could not deny them.

He threw his head back and downed the thick liquid with loud, hurried gulps. He caught his breath with a gasp, thrusting the cup back to Dorian while his nose scrunched in distaste. Varric whooped and Cullen slapped the elf man's shoulder in proud encouragement. He dared take a peek at Rhawlin, who had looked back down at her etching with a playful smile on her face. Dorian refilled Solas' glass without a word and passed it back, hiding his own smirk behind the lip of his own cup and carmine drink.


	13. Star-Crossed Confessions

For the rest of their working night, Cassandra and Varric kept most of Solas' attention, listening to his stories told in increasingly sloppy words. At one very tipsy point, he began speaking a few sentences purely in the elven language, using words and phrases that Rhawlin had never heard before. They were beautiful and flowed from him like long-lost poetry; Elegant, stirring and never again to be known and appreciated as they were to those who first spoke them. He caught his mishap soon enough, apologizing to his audience of two and continuing in plain speech. But for those few moments, the Inquisitor had become adrift in the soothing beauty of forgotten words, losing herself to a daydream stirred by her love's voice.

Miffed by his own conversation with her being disrupted, Dorian snapped his fingers a few times in front of Rhawlin's face, finally conjuring a small burst of flame to jerk her into reality. Cole, who had been tending to a very sick Sera in the bed, jumped as the Inquisitor's sudden fear echoed in him. The two of them shouted their surprise in unison, both focusing on the Necromancer sitting cross-legged across from the red elf.

"Damn, woman, you've only had one glass. Are you already far gone? Do you need  _more_  wine?" Dorian grumbled in annoyance and the two rogues visibly relaxed. Cole returned to Sera, who was weakly cussing at the disturbance.

"S-Sorry, Dorian. No, I'm fine, and no I certainly don't. I do not need another morning like today's any time soon. How is your knee, by the way?"

Color flushed in the man's cheeks as he recalled his slight fib, but he smiled his usual sly smirk and brushed it off. "Oh, fine, fine. I'm surprised you remember. Oh, would you look at that, we only have a few more."

Rhawlin looked at the pile of polished medals still needing their ribbons attached. Only five or six more, which came as a relief to her and her aching back. With a grin, she grabbed one of them and a ribbon from another pile, pulling it through with a pleased sigh.

"Did you hear that, guys? We're almost done." Rhawlin announced.

Cassandra and Varric looked over at her from their position on the room's white couch. Varric had settled into the corner of the plush, his elbow propped on the arm. Cassandra's head rested on his other shoulder, her feet tucked under turned body. Every once in a while, when the dwarf would make a dumb joke, she would shift enough to pinch the muscles on his ribs, always with the intent to cause the dwarf a little pain. Varric understood that is was because she wasn't sure how to express her affection, especially in front of others, and would always laugh and seethe slightly to placate her.

Solas, who stood in front of the couch and moved excitedly in his storytelling, whipped his head around to look at the progress. When had that happened? His quest for answers from Rhawlin became renewed in his mind, though his plans for extracting that information were long buried in the haze of his thoughts.

"Sera needs to go to bed, Rhawlin. She is, um, ah.. Varric?" Cole looked over at the blonde dwarf for help.

"Arse over tit." Varric laughed.

"Yes, she is 'arse over tit'. And she does not want Creepy to help her." Cole nodded once before looking back down at Sera in worry.

"Ah, well. I can finish up the rest. Cassandra, if you don't mind? You should get to bed too, anyway."

Groaning, Cassandra pushed herself up from the warmth of Varric's body and took the few short steps to the bed. Sera moaned, nearly whining, while Cassandra tried to rouse her to her feet, and began slapping at the Seeker's hands. Frustrated, Cass grabbed the elf beneath her armpits and pulled, ill-prepared for the drunken girl's reaction. She fussed and kicked, griping out the word 'Creepy' between curse words and slurred arguments. Dorian clicked his teeth with his tongue,  _tsking_  as he rose from the floor and moved to grab Sera's flailing feet. It took some work, but eventually the two taller humans had Sera subdued with Cassandra holding her shoulders and Dorian locking her knees in his elbows.

Cole lead them as they carried her down the stairs, wary with Varric's fear that Cassandra would fall in her inebriated state while the dwarf followed them from behind. When she heard no stumbling or slams, and finally the sound of her door closing, Rhawlin sighed.

"That was interesting." Solas had moved to the foot of her bed to give room for the thrashing elf's removal. It had not occurred to Rhawlin that he would not follow the rest of them out, and she jumped in surprise to his voice.

"By the Dread Wolf, Solas, damn you." She breathed out her words, but picked up a nearby needle and thread as if her scare had not occurred and began stitching a ribbon into place. Solas scoffed out loud at her curse and sat on the edge of the plush.

"He wouldn't dare-" He teased, though his tone was harsher with his honest emotions. "Even if he could."

Rhawlin snorted, setting down a finished charm and picking up the pieces to the next one. "You seem awfully sure of yourself, for someone who let his affections lose him a duel."

Solas was quiet, his dimmed mind taking time to try to understand her words. Affection? Of course he never said out loud that he no longer cared for Rhawlin, mostly because it was extremely untrue, yet he was certain she had come to believe it regardless. Or did she? His reasons behind dueling her consisted mostly of allowing her to vent out the feelings of betrayal and anger, with quelling the rumors a convenient benefit. Did she believe he allowed her to win? He grimaced after a few seconds, eyes becoming a bit sad.

"My affection had nothing to do with your winning." His words were slow and careful.

"It didn't? Your spell let up at an awfully lucky time for me then."

Solas sighed, pushing himself back off the bed and walking to stand next to her sitting form. "I promise you that it was not my inflated emotions that gave me pause. You should know that Morrigan-"

"Fuck!" Rhawlin growled as she watched a bead of red bloom from a pinprick on the flesh of her thumb. She let the charm she was working on fall into her lap, along with the needle that had pierced her.

"Are you-"

"Shut  _up_! I do not need your help and I do not want to hear about you and Morrigan and whatever you two have. I thought it was odd that you just  _decided_  to be social with me again, to even  _dare_  come to my room in the morning. If you did not want me so you could pursue the witch, you could have just  _fucking told me,_ instead of leaving me with nothing until you got what you wanted. I cannot believe-"

He was laughing. Solas was laughing so hard that he began bending at the waist, the force of his abdominal muscles squeezing him closed. She glared up at him, her broken heart weeping at his joyous response. When he was well and finished, unphased by Rhawlin's reaction, he settled himself on the floor in front of her.

"My lack of affection for Morrigan is as real as the sunrise, lethallan. I cannot say I understand why you might think I have developed such feelings for her but I assure you, I have not. I have no designs to woo her. There is no need to be jealous." In a more sober mind, he might not have added that last bit.

Rhawlin's skin turned vermillion with her blush, though she couldn't discern whether or it was from anger or embarrassment. Looking down from him, she pressed her wounded thumb to her lips, kissing away the blood and sucking gently. She continued like that as she backtracked her thoughts, reconsidering what she had deemed as damning evidence. After a minute of her silence, Solas continued.

"I did not mean to stop attacking you, Rhawlin. I would have continued until your surrender, but..  _something_  dispelled me. And I was certain I had you cornered with Firestorm. Odd."

Rhawlin looked up at him, her thumb still lingering on her lips, and he saw a glimmer of knowing in her golden eyes. Expert as she was at masking her emotions, few knew the reflection of her eyes like Solas did.

"That is indeed odd." Rhawlin was hesitant to reveal her prayer to Mythal, and then to Fen'Harel, for Solas had taught her better than to worship them. Her quick mind recalled some of his previous words and formed a cursory scheme around them. "What had your emotions so inflated, if not Morrigan?"

Solas shook his head a bit, trying to clear the alcohol from his brain. "It was.. difficult to fight you, Rhawlin. As it would be for any of your companions."

She snorted again. "Do not imply that any of my Circle, including Varric or Dorian, would not fight me to their fullest with no heaviness in their heart. The exception being Cole. Maybe."

"They would, if they were the cause and object of your ire as I have been. I fought you as I would have any foe, but do you think me so heartless not to loathe raising a hand to  _ma vhena- ma hahren_?"

The slip was not lost on Rhawlin, and her own dismissal of the hopeful spark in her heart left her feeling drained. He had been drinking, which he did not do often, so it was no surprise that he might use a habitual phrase for her. He was certainly no professional as Iron Bull was.

"You had no need to fight at all, if not for your foolish pride."

You had no need to fight at all, if not for your foolish pride. The words echoed in Solas from somewhere deep within and far away, a place forgotten for centuries before the birth of his mortal love who spoke them again. One hand rose from resting on his crossed legs, running over the skin of his head in hopes to provoke his thought and response.

"I.. cannot argue that." He looked at her working hands which trembled slightly, making the stitches just a bit uneven. He winced as he saw the needle pierce her again, this time the index finger on the same hand.

"Dread Wolf take me.." She sighed. Solas' breath caught. Blush crept onto his face to tinge the tips of his ears. His hands balled into fists, one on his head and the other in his lap. His sigh came out long, finding the will to block his imagination lacking, and tried not to revel in the idea of  _taking_  her. Having such a reaction bothered him, but it was something he'd come accustomed to in the time when Rhawlin often cursed her small fumblings with his old title, which was common enough. Clumsy for a rogue and craftswoman, something he found endearing. But with wine, it was harder to dismiss. It felt like it had taken several long minutes for him to calm himself down enough to respond, when it was far less.

"You evoke a useless name again. It's been a long time since you've used those curses." Solas spoke with a well-tamed tone, showing nothing of his internal struggle.

"Who's to say that they are curses? Maybe the Dalish got that  _small_  detail wrong, too." Rhawlin's tone came defensive.

"Well-" Solas smiled some. "You are using them to curse, are you not?"

"Well, yes, probably. They're just old sayings anyway. Does it bother you so much?"

"Yes, probably." He repeated her, earning a small twist of smile from the red elf. "I am just curious as to why you'd use them now, after so long."

"Because..." She put down the medal she was working on, taking a small moment to consider her answer. "Because I am unsure in my beliefs and they are the first curses I ever learned, though they were closer to prayers back then and I didn't even know it."

Solas' brows raised in curious surprise. He grabbed one of the few remaining medals and a ribbon and looped them together. "Is that so? So Varric was correct, and you are not Dalish. None of the proud people would teach such things. Where did you learn that?"

"Varric has not told you? Ah.. what a good friend.." Rhawlin grinned sheepishly, mentally scolding herself and praising her dear dwarf. "I came from some alienage. I was an orphan but a nice man taught me how to survive, played puzzles with me, told me stories of Fen'Harel, whenever he was in town."

"Oh? Did he tell you to appease the Wolf as not to be hunted down?"

"No, nothing like that." Rhawlin put down another finished charm and gently took the one Solas had started to finish the stitching. "He told me that Fen'Harel was the only god left and that I would survive by using my mind, not my power, like he did. The Slow Arrow was my favorite story."

Solas frowned some and looped another ribbon through. "But that story is very sad."

"Maybe-" She finished another, and the two of them continued like that as they spoke. "But it could have been sadder. Fen'Harel might have fought to protect the villagers, as a hero would, but he would have died. The entire village would have been destroyed, children and all, and the beast would have moved on to the next village, and the next.. Fera was very proud the day I realized that not everything will end perfectly, and that the Dread Wolf did what he could." Noticing Solas' frown curve into a small smile, and pleased beyond logic that he seemed to appreciate her story, she continued with more energy.

"Fera also taught me how to sneak and how to steal for survival. Oh how he whooped my ass the day he found me with one of those little metal toys that he just  _knew_ I had stolen. Said rats steal what they want, wolves take what they need and only if they truly need it. A proud wolf does not steal if he can hunt."

"Did you believe his stories, Inquisitor?" He asked, almost wistfully.

"I did. Clan Lavellan nearly had my head when they found out. I don't know why they kept me, but they did. And taught me about the rest of the Pantheon, and that Fen'Harel was not to be praised. I stopped using his name in prayers and cursed just like the rest of my people, but I never hated him as my clan did. As it turns out they have been wrong a lot more than I have." She laughed softly. With one last stitch, she finished one last charm, and stood. "Finally."

Solas watched Rhawlin as she went through a few stretches, filling the room with a barrage of pops and snaps from her stiff joints. "Did you pray to him today, Rhawlin?"

The red elf froze mid-stretch, one arm raised over her head while she bent at the side. "What an odd question."

"Please answer it." Solas did all that he could not to allow his eagerness to show, stuffing down the hope that perhaps there was one in Thedas that did not fear or despise him. As she let her arms fall back to her sides, the two elves stared at each other, both suppressing their true thoughts, both unwilling to speak the truth.

Rhawlin contemplated the depths of his knowledge, how much he knew and why, and how she would dance around allowing her secret be known. His question was relative enough to their conversation, but it seemed as though he already knew the answer. She'd told no one of her experiments in prayer, so gossip would not have brought him the idea, and she worried that perhaps the effects of the blessings were more obvious than she realized. She felt cornered, trapped between revealing the truth and losing his respect, having a well-formed lie backfire and reveal just how much thought she would put into hiding, or maybe find a way to conceal it and convince him, to have it weigh on her for her remaining days.

"Elven adviser, ser, I did pray to Fen'Harel today. Before you scold me for investing my spirit in vain, I must say that it was not. The Dread Wolf walks among us, Solas. I felt him. He uses the Anchor to give me his blessing. You say the gods were only powerful elves, from a time when elves lived forever. How long has it been since he received a real prayer?"

Solas closed his eyes, drawing deep and calming breaths. "Probably long enough.. that he forgot what they sound like. Tell me Rhawlin; if what you say is true, than does the truth bring you comfort?"

She watched him with wary eyes, taken aback when he did not immediately begin telling her all of the reasons that what she had said was impossible. "Maybe, knowing I'm on the right track to finding the truth. However I.. I don't think this truth is very comforting."

The mage scowled, eyes tightening. "That does not surprise me. What comfort would a trickster wolf bring?"

"Oh, no, I'm only disturbed that Corypheus has Fen'Harel's artifact, and maybe a little upset that I gave up on him for a time.. But, I have no fear of the Dread Wolf."

Solas stood, hands traveling up the woman's arms to grip her biceps and triceps, squeezing past a comforting level and edging on threatening. His narrowed eyes, grayer than they typically seemed, searched the Inquisitor's surprised face for hints of lies.

"You are very brave,  _asha_ , perhaps you have this Fera to thank for it. But you should mind your curses, or prayers. If you ask the Dread Wolf to take you, he very well might, and still for a price."

Rhawlin took a shaking breath, calming her heart's frantic beating. She had seen the man be violent before, even allowing it in the name of justice for his spirit friend's corruption. This was not the same violence. Maybe it was the wine he'd had, or the intimate conversation reminiscent of the ones they'd used to share but she thought that behind his anger, she heard hope and pleading.

"Solas.." She breathed his name. "What do you know? I have respected your secrets, and have not pressed on matters you've dismissed. But now you have invaded my beliefs, again, and ask me questions that you should not have even considered.."

"What I know, is that I am tired of pretending."

Solas gripped her chin, tilting her head just a bit farther up and lowering his to meet her. The kiss he took from her was hungry, forceful, as nearly all of them had been. However, Rhawlin was still beneath his lips, frozen in a mixture of emotions, none of which matched his passion. A swirl of all the painful feelings she'd had since he removed her blood writing, and tinges of disbelief, rose in her chest. Her free hand braced against his chest, shoving gently. He withdrew from the kiss, and she was glad it took no more for him to do so.

"Solas,  _felas. Ma hamin_. My heart cannot handle your inhibitions.. Sleep your drink away, and I will forget this."

" _Emma din'isala hamin. Emma ir'isala ma, vhenan._ Sleep will not rid either of us of this truth, Rhawlin. Blame the drink if you must, but I will no longer act as though I am not enthralled in all you are, in all you do. It was foolish of me to let go of such a rare spirit, for not only did I lose to freedom to hold you, but I damaged the very things about you that make you so extraordinary. I thought it had to be done. Had I known,  _ma vhenan_ , that you would also be so understanding..  _Ir abelas_.. I am so sorry..  _Ir uth'abelas, emma lath_."

Rhawlin lifted her free hand to gently touch Solas' cheek, her cynical gaze melting into bittersweet understanding. "I.. I know that you had your reasons, Solas, but.. Fuck, do you know what you've done to me? I loved you, I love you, and my heart is not a sacrifice for whatever greater good you're trying to achieve." She let her hand fall and stepped back from him, forcing him to relinquish her other arm. "How can I trust in you, Solas? You keep things from me, still. You leave me with no answers and just as I might be on track to finding them, you..." She trailed off, looking away from him.

"Rhawlin.." He sighed, rubbing his hand over the skin of his head again. "I am your answer. I am Fen'Harel."


	14. A Believer, A Skeptic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am I kind of an ass? I think I'm kind of an ass.  
> I could see this reaction being upsetting. I would be a little upset if I read it. It took some time to plan because spirituality is the main theme, using romance to bolster.

Surely, his lady love was toying with him. Solas knew not to assume anything of her reaction, for she had surprised him countless times, yet he was still not prepared. Anger, disgust, maybe even joy, violence, exile, where all real options. But Rhawlin allowed a silence to linger between them for some time, her face thoughtful but devoid of emotion. Every second felt like minutes, minutes like hours, his body rigid and fixed to endure whatever she would throw. Suddenly, she took a deep breath, and he held his.

“That is, um.. very cute, Solas. But, saying you're the Dread Wolf does not mean you can  _take me_. Sort of, um.. inappropriate.. right now. Don't you think? I'm trying to be serious.”

Yes. She must be toying with him. Solas' eyebrow twitched, lips parting to hang open in shock. He was beyond skeptical, beyond baffled at her misunderstanding.

“You.. You think I am flirting with you?” He half-laughed, bewildered, and took a step closer to her. Finally revealing his secret to her had been harsh on his mind; all the mistakes that had brought him to her, every wrong choice he made her suffer through, every day of aching to tell her replayed in his thoughts. Every moment of regret, swirling with a mixture of wine, new-found, overpowering hope, her aching request for an answer, his aching heart that longed to claim her, and his ragged mind could take no more. The truth fell from his mouth, and he had both known and did not realize that he confessed it in his turmoil. He spoke his true name to her and it felt as if the single word had taken every breath he'd ever had, and she thought he was  _teasing_  her.

Rhawlin looked at him, eyes reflecting her irritation. “Don't imply you weren't joking about being the god I pray to.”

Solas groaned, looking away from her and out of the balcony window. “In all my life I have never known such a frustrating woman. For your open mind and all your wisdom, you can be so oblivious to the truth.”

Her annoyed eyes narrowed, her mouth curving into an offended frown. “That is not funny, Solas. Do not insult me as such. The fact that your jest was cute only goes so far, when you mock the thing I have only recently discovered.”

“It was not meant to be funny. It is the truth just as the fact that I the Dread Wolf is the truth.” He mirrored her expression, though he did well to hide just how deeply Rhawlin displeased him with her dismissal.

She blinked, angry and confused by all that he'd told her. Eventually, her eyes widened in what she believed to be understanding. “Are you trying to teach me a lesson or something? To show me how ridiculous I look to you, believing him to be real? Or is such disparaging of what I believe punishment for not returning your sentiments? All you've ever told me is how wrong I am. Haven't you destroyed enough of what I hold close!?”

Although the woman's voice was angry and snarling, Solas blanched at seeing the tears begin to line her eyes. Throughout it all, even the day he'd ended their relationship, never had he seen her cry for his harshness. It was an extremely sobering thing to watch her eyes shine with tears and anger, to hear her choke down a sob with an angry grunt. He was reminded then what his lie was for, the reasons he not only needed to hide himself but why he had left her; to protect her, and ensure that he could make right what was wrong. Yet he was also reminded, through the terrible aching in his heart, of all he had already lost and was on the verge of losing.

Watching her tears finally fall, her gentle wail forcing its way out of her nose, he cautiously reached out to her, pausing to see her reaction and speaking in as soothing a tone as he could, as anxious as he was.

“This.. was not what I intended. I did not mean to upset you so,  _vhenan_ , I did not mean-”

“You never do, do you? What I've found is the realest thing I've ever known. More real than the Dalish dances, far more real than being Herald and.. more real than being with you. I'm finally getting answers, proof.. You've no right to deride Fen'Harel to me!” She took a shivering breath, forcing herself to calm a bit. “You are dismissed, Solas.”

The elf man's open arms fell to his side and he watched Rhawlin for several seconds, going through a short list of ideas for things that he might possibly do to just make her understand in the short time he had left with her. He turned towards the stairs leading out of her quarters, but stopped to speak in a blank, masked tone.

“Rhawlin, I cannot undo what I have done or take back my words. You mentioned a greater cause; I suppose it was too much to hope that you'd continue believing that my interests were purely in the Breach. So I will offer you this. Truth, if you should seek it from me still. I will tell you, and I will show you my proof. However, pray to your god for strength if you do, because learning it will not be kind, and.. I might have need to leave the Inquisition for you knowing.” Solas' steely voice softened some, but he did not look to face her. “I pledged not to distract you with my affections again. One more broken promise, I suppose. But this, perhaps it is love, it does not come easily..”

The way he'd said it all was incredibly foreboding, as Rhawlin was sure he intended it to be. She watched him walk down the stairs until she could no longer see the round of his head, and then waited to hear the soft click of her door closing, before she threw herself into the plush of her bed. It was some time of angry cursing and small sobs before sleep finally took her restless mind.

 

 

The next day was a whirlwind of activity. It left Rhawlin little time to contemplate what Solas had said to her, and less time to get over her anger. To her, Solas compared himself to the Dread Wolf the same way she'd heard Varric compare himself to Andraste, though the dwarf usually did it in good taste. Usually.

Cullen had woken her early to collect all the finished charms and discuss their release to the soldiers. The sooner the better, they'd agreed, with the impending attack. He had politely looked away and continued discussing Inquisition matters while Rhawlin dressed, but grimaced some when she made to leave without tending to her hair. After some a small argument, in which he experienced Rhawlin's foul mood first hand, he'd convinced her to at least brush it. When it was, he pointed out a small chunk missing from her duel the day before, and insisted she get her hair cut to maintain appearances. The red elf was extremely prepared to argue further, if not for another knock at the door that turned out to be a small unit of soldiers that Cullen had called for to carry the crates.

The Commander ushered Rhawlin out with the soldiers, pushing the bag of unsorted charms into her grasp. The Throne Room was busy was loud, rushing noises that Rhawlin should have been used to by then. The overabundance of noise, and that her progress was slowed as the crowd did not part for her as it did when she was alone, seemed to further her agitation. When someone stepped on her foot, she let out a loud, wordless growl.

“Oh, Inquisitor, I'm so sorry!” The chiming voice was rattled, but pleasant to hear, and Rhawlin looked up in interest to see who it belonged to.

Usually, when she saw the kitchen maid Faye, her hair was up and she was dressed in work clothes. In fact, that's exactly how Rhawlin had seen the young woman just the day before. But this morning, her hair was tied into a few braids and all pulled back into a high ponytail, and recruit armor shone on her with a wavering glint. Her cheeks were flushed with the color of her exertion, obviously not yet accustomed to the weight.

“It's quite alright. Pardon my outburst. I've seen you nearly every day for some months, but I'm ashamed to admit I do not know your name.” Rhawlin spoke with the pride of a ruler, even as it was tinged with her clinging malice.

“S-Sorry, ser. I'm Faye.” She spoke, her knell voice breathy with nerves.

“It is good to finally know. The armor suits you.” the Inquisitor spoke to the recruit as she began to walk away, considering that the end of their encounter.

“Thank you! After I saw you fight the tea-elf, I joined the ranks!” Faye called and followed after her, excited to be interacting with their leader.

“Tea-elf?” She questioned in return, continuing behind the rest of the squad and charms.

“Yes, the apostate! He made tea for you twice yesterday while I was working. I think he and I are friends now. I think you and I would be friends too, if you ever wanted. The three of us could go to the tavern and-”

“Enough.” Rhawlin stopped as she interrupted, her forced demeanor cracking slightly as she understood who exactly the girl meant. “Faye, correct? You must focus on your training. That elf will only distract you from what needs doing, and say he is setting you straight. He is a trickster.” Rhawlin grimaced some as the Anchor pulsed lightly beneath her armored glove. The hitch in attention gave her time to look at the young woman's defeated face, her large brown eyes downcast. The Inquisitor sighed. “As for me, I have had far too much drink as of late. I would certainly love to help you train some time, though. What made you decide to join?”

Faye's now bright and cheerful face gained a red tint, and she rubbed the back of her neck as she answered. “Well, I didn't so much as decide. I lost a bet on your duel. B-But its not like I don't want to!”

“Lost a bet? Against who?”

“That mage woman, Morrigan.” Faye spoke with a grin.

 

 

There were three meetings, two training sessions, a skipped meal time and more paperwork than she ever cared to see again. Pushing the last parchment and her quill away, she groaned realizing that she would have plenty of this for as long as she was Inquisitor. It brought a question to mind.

“Leliana, how long does someone typically keep the title Inquisitor?”

The ginger-haired bard looked up from where she was peeking over Josephine's shoulder to Rhawlin sitting on the other side of the desk. “If it were under more strict Chantry rules, I would say your life. Are you thinking of quitting?”

“No, no.” The elf answered quickly. “I was just thinking what we'll do after all of this. Keep helping people, yes, but we'll lose our uniting goal. Will I be needed any more? How many soldiers will leave us?”

Josephine didn't look up, but spoke optimistically. “I'm sure there will be plenty for us to do. And beyond that there are still rifts to be sealed,  _you_  are our leader. Of course you'll be needed.” She slid a piece of parchment over to expose another and scrawled her signature. “I think the charms will help keep the soldiers at least loyal to us, if not with us. Which reminds me, I do believe they should have a title of some sort.”

“The charms?” Rhawlin blinked

“Yes. Something to call them by, make them seem more real. I will leave that up to you, and you should work on your speech for when we release them. Also, I'm pleased to report that the rumors have been sufficiently quelled and from what I understand, many of the soldiers did learn a bit about defensive movement from you.”

Rhawlin nodded, honestly pleased to hear that something good had come from the bout. Her thoughts drifted back to Solas, of course, and she growled. The only two other people in the office, right in front of her, looked at her in surprise.

“Are you well, Inquisitor? You've been a bit.. surly.” Leliana's voice came softer than was usual. Rhawlin looked up, too angry to be embarrassed, and took a series of short breaths while she thought about how to answer.

“To be honest, no. But it is not something I really want to discuss.” She rose to her feet. “If there is nothing else?” With the two women's reluctant but pardoning nods, she walked out. Leliana followed quickly behind her.

“I heard some interesting news, Inquisitor.” She spoke softly as soon as the office door was closed.

“Have you? Not worth mentioning when I asked?” Rhawlin scoffed softly, walking through the still-crowded Throne Room and towards the front entrance.

“No, not at all. Worth it to tell you when you're alone, though. I did not want to worry Josephine. I've found who started the rumor of Solas challenging you. Morrigan.”

The Inquisitor froze, standing in the middle of the soldiers' haste, while her face contorted in anger. “I am getting quite tired of hearing her name. Along with that man's. Tell me all that you know, Leliana. I am ending this.”

 

 

The Lady Nightengale did not tell all that she knew, but the red elf knew better than to actually expect it. What she did tell her, was that Morrigan had told a couple of soldiers on their way to the tavern that an elf mage was trying to challenge the Inquisitor, two nights prior. When they got there, the Inquisitor was leaving with the Seeker, and the rumor developed as the two men got drunk with their friends. Then, some of the attending soldiers overheard she'd made a bet with one of the kitchen maids that Rhawlin would win, but Solas would surrender. Rhawlin herself could assume from there that it was Morrigan who had interrupted Solas' Veilstrike, and pushed her to question whether or not surviving Firestorm actually was the blessing of Fen'Harel.

It took Rhawlin much less time to find Morrigan, as her days were almost always spent in the same place. The Garden was cheerful, bright colors and warm sun that did not match Morrigan's dark appearance or The Inquisitor's harsh demeanor. The witch was knelt by a potted plant, the Spindleweed, shifting the soil around it in care, while the elf woman made a beeline for her.

“Good afternoon, Inquisitor. 'Tis a lovely day, is it not?”

“I am so fucking done with games, Morrigan. Why did you start the rumor, why did you cheat a kitchen maid, and why did you interrupt Solas?”

Morrigan took a few seconds to finish her task before slowly standing and dusting her hands off. “You've impressed me, Inquisitor, as do your people. Quick to find answers. I do apologize, I thought you liked games. You played them so well in Orlais. Well, allow me to be as blunt with you as you are with me.” She looked up to lock onto the other woman's eyes, yellow meeting gold, and smiled. “I began the gossip to force you into action. And to see that rude little cur be beaten, of course.”

Rhawlin sighed, shifting her weight uneasily. “Okay, so why did you need to force me into action?”

“To clear your mind. 'Twas obvious that your heart had been broken, but not in the way I would have expected from you. I did not know I expected you to be wild and angry, until you were so quiet and doubtful. Even my boy could see you were not right. Do you not feel better?”

“No, not really. However that is mostly unrelated.”

“Ah, he insulted you did he? Such an idiot.” Morrigan clicked her tongue in a  _tsk_. Rhawlin could not help but smile and nod in agreement.

“You might have been right. It is hard to say with all that has happened. Even if it might have, that cannot be the only reason you did so. Other than seeing him beaten.”

“Right again, Inquisitor. I believe that Solas is not what he seems. I wondered how he would fight you, if he would hide his power or unleash it on you. You're a worthy opponent, after all, and he is such a prideful thing. I thought I might learn something to see him attack you.”

Rhawlin nodded slowly, adding another clue to the mystery that was the man she loved and hated. “Alright, I suppose that makes sense, although I'd much rather you have come to me.”

“I'm afraid I was not prepared for this plan when I put it into motion. Though we rarely are, isn't that so? 'Twas better the two of you have no concept of my plan.”

“Oh? Was I under scrutiny as well?”

“Only a tad. Try not to think into it, lest you hurt that cunning mind.”

The elf sighed, resigning to the witch's puzzling nature, and continued with her questioning. “Whatever, what about the girl?”

Morrigan looked down at the Spindleweed pot and smiled softly. “Ah, Faye. Such a sweet girl. Far too blunt for her own good. I will tell you, Rhawlin, that my wager with the girl was not intended to be won as it was. She'd told me much about Solas making tea, that he makes a face when he smells it. And she yammered about that dwarf you hold so highly and the Seeker. A gossipy thing. I asked her if she'd seen much of you, and she said no. Now, I will say again, even Kieran could see your heartache. She sees too much to be so blind, and is obviously loyal to you already. I believe she would be good to have on your side.”

“If you didn't mean to cheat Faye then why did you dispel Solas?” Rhawlin hid her pride for the steadfast maid she barely knew, behind an annoyed frown.

“That is a silly question, Lady Lavellan. You came with me into the Eluvian. You know I cannot deny Mythal.” Morrigan took a few slow steps to the next pot nearby, where Royal Elfroot grew tall and beautiful. For Rhawlin's comfort and partly for her own amusement, the witch ignored the embarrassed flush of color that stained the elf's cheeks.

“Morrigan, you.. heard me pray?” Rhawlin asked, her voice dropping into a distressed whisper.

“No, I did not hear it. It is a compulsion. Moreover, the voices get agitated and  _very_  annoying if I ignore what She wants. May I ask, did you pray to someone else? Elgar'nan?”

Rhawlin's eyes narrowed as she watched the raven-headed woman mix the soil around the plant, noticing she was extremely careful not to disturb the roots with her longer nails. Another person she didn't quite trust was questioning her on something personal, confusing and extremely unsettling. She grunted, turning away from her.

“No one else is left, Morrigan. The will of Mythal is all. Thank you for answering, I'll leave you to your task.”

The Inquisitor walked out of the garden with fists clenched at her side and Morrigan watched her with a small smile. She moved on to a few other pots, slowly beginning to hum. It was mostly to drown out the commanding voices of the Well but, it was a nice day and she was slowly beginning to solve the mysteries within the Inquisition. Good moods came easier to her than they used to.

“Can I help?”

The witch looked up smoothly from her plants to see Cole looming behind her. He stood anxiously, head bowed to hide his face beneath the signature hat, though he was plain to see for Morrigan below him. She let out a long, theatrical sigh and spoke with her typical pride.

“Would you not be the first to know, spirit?”

Cole blinked in slight confusion before he shook his head. “I am not a spirit. And you have too many spirits. A wall of a thousand voices, all grieving the loss of her.”

Morrigan rose to her feet, pushing her body into Cole's space, which typically did the trick for intimidating the younger men. But he stood his ground, looking at her with wide, innocent eyes.

“You say you are no spirit, but you are not human.”

“I am too human!” The boy spoke indignantly, childish, his hands clenching into fists. Morrigan quirked a brow, curious at his outburst.

“I apologize. What is your human name, again?” She spoke in a much calmer, interested tone. Cole eyed her for a moment before responding, his tone still holding a pout.

“Cole.”

“Ah, Cole. I am Morrigan, though you know who I am. It is a pleasure to formally make your acquaintance.” She offered her hand to him, fingers straight and sharp with her nails. Cole smiled, pleased he knew this answer from Varric's teachings. He took her hand in his and shook it, perhaps a little too powerfully, and spoke his line in return.

“The pleasure is mine. How about this weather?”

 Morrigan laughed softly and released his hand. “The weather is fine and good. But I was really wondering about _how_  you became a human...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of an ass, right?  
> This seemed the most realistic to me. In my own opinion, I think typical Dalish wouldn't necessarily take the news easily, but would probably be more inclined to believe it since they don't really follow him. Rhawlin's belief in Fen'Harel at this point is religious, serious. I tried again to put myself in those shoes, and decided if someone who hurt me, kept secrets and lied to me suddenly declared he was the god I worship (that they've been trying to show you are not gods?) shortly after I show less enthusiasm at their promise to love me, I'd probably act like this? 
> 
> also, side note, I'm not planning to pair up Morrigan and Cole. I do think she would be pretty darn interested in him as a subject though.


	15. A Prayer to You, Fadewalker

Solas felt the thrum of magic just before the waystone in the Throne Room erupted in white light. He had just stepped out of his rotunda, a rag gripped in his paint-covered hands, when the flash demanded his attention. It only took a second for the glare to die down and leave Scout Harding kneeling beside it. When she did not immediately rise, he ran to her, instincts catching and rushing on the feeling of doom that surrounded the dwarf.

Upon inspection, he found her forehead busted open, lip swollen and bleeding and bruises covering her face. Blood seeped from between gloved fingers that were pressed against a wound on her opposite shoulder, tucked beneath the remnants of her torn collar. When she looked up at him, pain and defiance shimmered in her green eyes with unshed tears.

"Get the Inquisitor!" Solas' voice boomed as he knelt to tend to her with glowing hands. It didn't take long for Rhawlin to come rushing in through the front entrance still smelling of flowers and dirt, sliding to kneel beside him and listen to Harding's trembling, angry words.

"Red templars.. in Crestwood. We'd just stopped through.. to check on things.. They're attacking Caer Bronach."

Rhawlin sent a nearby soldier to collect the rest of her team and one of the maids to collect their equipment while Solas finished the healing he could do. The two elves shared a worried glance, hurt feelings forgotten, as Harding spoke of a losing battle.

 

 

It had been too quiet on the trek from the town to keep in Crestwood. There were a number of smaller bouts against groups of low-ranking templars, but nothing that Rhawlin was certain Harding couldn't have handled or avoided. In fact, she'd barely needed any help from Varric, Cassandra or Solas, and probably would have made it at least to Caer Bronach on her own. However, as the scene of the keep's front terrace came into focus with their approach, she knew she would not have gone any farther and lived.

The Inquisitor watched her people struggle in battle against a mass of red templar Horrors and Shadows. The ground at their feet was littered with bodies from both sides and, to her minute relief, seemed to be mostly compromised of the templars. She glanced up at the walls were the tainted warriors had yet to reach, though she could see they had certainly breached the keep by where the archers mounted there were shooting. Inhuman screeches and gurgling, all-too-human cries of pain and the shrill notes of metal swords and shields colliding filled the air, and Rhawlin was scared for them. The fear propelled her feet forward, mad dashes pushing her into the thick of the battle.

Cassandra followed Rhawlin, shouting her war cry, boosting herself and calling the templar's attention away from their struggling soldiers and agents. The Stormheart blade of her Serpant's Rage axe bit into and slayed while her Noble Shield of the same metal deflected strikes and defended allies. She was a wild thing, something not to be tamed in her battle fury, and Varric found himself lost in the curve of her body and hammering attacks, the intensity of her eyes when she locked onto another target. If not for Solas' quick blast of chain lightening, the dwarf might have been struck by a Shadow. Solas rushed passed him as Varric let loose a number of bolts, getting close enough to the two ladies to throw barriers around them.

Rhawlin left them behind to finish the few that remained, as she often did, and rushed into the keep with dual blades spinning. Quick thrusts took out Horrors as she bolted through them, rushed skirmishes with Shadows that met her blade by blade until she'd use her cunning to outmaneuver them. She followed the trail of fighting up the first set of steps, through the small door. When she finally came upon a Behemoth, holding one of her men by the head, she adjusted her grip and approached it shouting.

The great crimson beast tossed the soldier to the side and Rhawlin's eyes tightened to hear the snapping of their body against the keep's wall. She took quick, quiet leaps around the behemoth's heavy attacks, leaping on and off his crystallized arm. Finding bits of the mutated templar that were still fleshy and would give to her blades was her least favorite part, and this one seemed particularly shielded by unnatural red stone. The elf danced around the creature for too many moments, too many defeated screams of her people. Behind her she heard the shouts of her friends, moving in to sweep up stragglers, and called to them in panic.

"Help them!"

Solas and Cassandra looked towards the sound of their leader and then beyond her, up to two sets of stairs and up to the wall where their men fought another behemoth, and were not doing well. The Seeker rushed to them, axe baring on the smaller foes in her way, with Solas shooting an array of spells towards the large beast. Thankfully it was large enough that his spells had no problem seeking their target, and not the soldiers around it.

Varric let loose a number of bolts into the behemoth swinging heavily at the red elf, the force pushing it back enough that Rhawlin had more ease for dodging. After a quick reload, he let loose some more, piercing them deep and solid into the overgrown and misshapen crystals that bloomed from the templar's back and shoulders. It swung its irregular arm in anger, towards any that might be hit, and the elf hopped to land lightly on the bulk of it. The dwarf took a small hit, but recovered himself quickly and then cloaked himself in shadow. As Varric moved to its other side in silence, Rhawlin struggled to climb up the crystals and bolt ends. Another bolt fired, finding its mark passed his armored leg and into the other fleshy thigh, forcing the beast to its knees which tossed Rhawlin up the length of its arm. Gripping a bolt end with her right hand for support, her left hand twirled a dagger to regrip and stabbed the shimmering blade into the sliver of behemoth's exposed neck, at its skull. It screamed and thrashed, forcing Rhawlin to jump from it to land on one knee beside Varric, as it fell to the ground.

The two exchanged a smile, but both whipped their heads at the sound of Cassandra's pained cry. Horror crossed Varric's face as he watched his love braced against a higher wall only feet from a door, half-crumbled under the pressure that threw her there. The behemoth loomed over her, preparing an attack. Without much thought, Varric shot a bolt, and by some grace landed the shot right in the damned thing's temple. But it did not fall, and soldiers on a wall two ladders up were still fighting and calling for support. Varric looked at his leader as if asking permission, and took off like a halla up the steps when she nodded solemnly. She paused for a moment to look for Solas, who was kneeling by some soldiers and making their wounds less life-threatening. Deeming it important enough, she rushed up the ladders without another thought.

Shadows and Horrors fell to her blades as she rushed farther in, but the force had been far larger than she could see from below it. It didn't take too long for her and six of her men to be encircled by Shadows, Knights and an overshadowing behemoth. Holding up her blades defensively, running through schemes in her mind, and part of her wondered just why so many had been sent there. Rhawlin and her men did well at defending themselves, but could make no movements to attack lest she leave the soldiers to fend off the beasts. She took a breath to pray, but had no need.

A circle of sickle green began to glow around the mass of templars and Inquisition, and Pull of the Abyss began to tug the red beasts in front of her away. Rhawlin spun to face the other side and the templars outside of the spell's border, slashing forward and urging her men to help. Within a minute they had either tossed them into the circle or killed them outright, and the red elf finally eased her stance to look for the mage she knew to be responsible.

Solas stood nearby the top of the ladder leading up, Cassandra was just cresting the top and speaking loudly to Varric below her. The two elves locked eyes for several drawn-out seconds before the red woman nodded her appreciation. Solas smiled, gripping his glowing hand into a fist, and slammed it down.

Chunks and shards of red lyrium from the bunched templars flew into the air under the pressure of his Veilstrike. The two women rushed forward, slashing and crushing the beasts that still lived as they tried to rise. Varric ran around them in a circle, taking calculated shots between the women and helping struggling soldiers to their feet. The four of them, along with the help of the able-bodied soldiers, swept through the rest of Caer Bronach. Rhawlin was pleased to find the Inquisition's flag still flying, and made a small announcement of thanks to her men, outwardly expressing her grief for those that fell.

When the dust settled and the moon hung low in the sky, she found the highest ranking soldier and questioned him about the red templars' appearance. What he presented her with, what they had protected from Corypheus' forces, was a small chest that fit in her two hands. Apparently it was found where there was once a lake engulfing Old Crestwood, rather far from the flooded town. They had not been able to open it, even though there were no physical locks of latches to keep it closed, and the few mages in their company confirmed that it was hexed. She grunted, frustrated with the lack of real answers, and stuffed the box into her bag.

After some time of healing the injured and helping clean up the bodies, the group of four left their reclaimed keep. Cassandra was the only one to speak up when, instead of heading north towards the Village of Crestwood, Rhawlin turned southeast from the entrance of Caer Bronach.

Getting results from her prayers drove her to think of her dream from only a few nights ago. What she could remember of Fera's words replayed in her head on repeat, proving she was all too aware of the fact that the cave protected by Fen'Harel's statue was close by. She did not dare look back at Solas, letting herself believe that he had very little to do with reclaiming what her dreams said could be found in Crestwood, beyond being the reason she'd lost it in the first place. She finally stopped to answer, still not looking back.

"There is something I need to do, in a place I don't want to go to. You three are relieved; get to the village and back to Skyhold. Ensure your wounds are tended to. I will return when I am done." The voice she spoke with, commanding and harsh, surprised the three of them into a moment of shocked quiet. Dutiful as she was, Cassandra did not press it further, but did share a questioning look with Varric. He shook his head after a moment and turned north, heading home with Cassandra right behind him. Rhawlin continued up the incline towards her goal, and Solas watched her with a small snarl before joining the two heading north.

Passing through towers of red lyrium, ominous in red glow and jumping sparks, the elf could not help but be filled with a sense of foreboding. The light painted her burgundy hair crimson, edging her sight with the color of blood. Every step she took towards the cave she sought, the lyrium grew more and closer together, and she felt caged by them. The darkness of the sky left too much beyond the crystals shrouded in mystery, and every small breeze rustling through the trees made her momentarily reach for her daggers. When the wolf statue finally came into her vision, she released a breath that was subconsciously held and quickened her pace.

Tightness in her skull as her head was wrenched backwards, straining her neck and forcing her feet from under her. Rhawlin gasped in pain and surprise as the grip at the end of her wild hair lifted her skywards, feet dangling and kicking about. The behemoth's bulking arm kept her frantic hands from finding her daggers, and she screamed out in anger. It's smaller arm ripped the material of the small bag on the elf's back, sending the little chest to the ground. It began to retrieve it, bending over enough that Rhawlin could send her knee colliding into its face. The beast squealed in pain, but not nearly as loudly as the elf did when it's hardened skin and skull broke her kneecap.

Rhawlin fought not to whimper as the behemoth lifted her up to screech angrily in her face, feeling her hair beginning to tear at the roots and the stabbing, aching pain of broken bones. Her hand opened out to it's face, the Anchor flaring as she called on it's power, but she screamed again as it closed its teeth around her wrist. For a moment she fought to free herself until she realized she would more likely rip her own hand off in the process and lose the power to save Thedas.

"Rhawlin!" Solas' angry voice got to her just before the flash of magic did, and she fried with the mutant templar in a flaming energy barrage. It reared back, freeing her hand but not her hair, and Solas fired shot after shot from his staff. Rhawlin collapsed to the ground as the flames burned through her locks, and she laid in wide-eyed shock, numb, as the man took on the beast on his own.

Even as he damaged more and more of the behemoth, Solas was not as quick on his feet, and often had to stop to cast his spells. The once-templar caught him with attacks a number of times and when Solas fell to the ground, it summoned pillars of red lyrium around them. Rhawlin could not see, she knew Solas had no room to move, she knew he needed space to cast. If it killed Solas, it would kill her, and all that they'd hoped for would be gone.

_Fen'Harel.. Save him.. Help him survive.._

It hurt to feel the power drain from her, especially after so much was used in the keep, but not nearly as badly as her sudden wounds hurt. It was the first time Rhawlin could actually see her prayer being answered, light shooting from her limp like an arrow, piercing through the red wall. Green light filled the space inside the lyrium, flashing and shifting and casting sickly glares through the crimson stone.

The shine and the power behind it both seemed to suddenly swell, pressing against the lyrium until it shattered, and she could see him. The flames engulfing the red carcass could not pierce through the swirling emerald that rushed out in sudden freedom, pouring from the elf mage's standing form. Solas stood there with light pouring from his eyes and hands, cloth of his armor billowing about in the sway of power. To Rhawlin, he looked beautiful, strong,  _god-like_ , and her heart quivered to behold him in spite of her resurfacing pain.

Familiar squealing alerted the elves to more approaching enemies, and Solas took only a moment to listen for how far they were, which was only enough for them to hide. Light fading, he ran to her side and knelt long enough to shove the small chest into her arms and collect her into his. Careful not to jostle her, he sprinted from the space of their battle and passed the wolf statue, turning into the darkened cave. He traversed the twists and turns until they brought him to the open mouth, stepping into the area that he loathed to revisit.

Rhawlin huffed as Solas sat her on the ground some feet from the pond in attempts to hide her pain. Neither of them dare make sound as they listened for sounds that might echo from the cave, something that would alert them to being followed to the clearing. After some minutes, Solas turned his healing hands on her, frowning.

"Why did you dismiss us, Rhawlin? Why did you come back here? Foolish, foolish girl." He muttered, not really expecting an answer. He pushed her kneecap together as much as he could and forced his magic into her, and she sighed in relief to feel it begin to ease the throbbing. With one hand on her knee still flowing healing magic, the other found a vial of lyrium on the side pocket of his bag, uncorked it and brought it to his lips. Solas refilled his magic for drinking the blue liquid, face scrunched in disgust and a displeased hack after swallowing, just to expel it further to mend the break in her patella.

All the while, she watched him, golden eyes full of vague wonder. Somewhere in the numbness of her mind, she knew he did not need the lyrium potion, she knew some of the anchor's power still ran through his blood. And somewhere even further, perhaps from the odd beat in her glowing palm, she knew Solas would never lose it, and she would never regain that fraction from him. It should have been a worrying thing, but it pleased her, imagining in some dreamlike way that the two of them were forever connected. A small, weak smile played on her lips, and Solas looked up from his work on the damage she'd suffered to see it.

It was about an hour before Rhawlin was right in her mind and well enough to stand, though Solas only made her do so long enough to move them both over to the rocks lining the edge of the pond. He wrapped her outstretched leg in long bandages from her shin to mid-thigh to keep her knee in place, all the while they remained in quiet, until he moved to sit next to her.

"We should head back to Crestwood soon.." He trailed off, unable to find a title befitting their relationship.

"I'm not quite done here, I think." She spoke softly in return, her tired gaze searching the area for some clue as to how to "learn to find her heart". She should have expected the question that followed.

"What are you seeking, Inquisitor?" Solas asked, his voice matching the exhaustion in her eyes.

"Nothing you would be interested in, I'm sure. But it is important to me to find it." Rhawlin pushed herself up, balancing on her one good foot, and began to hop towards the pond. Solas rushed to her side, grabbing her wrist and tucking his head beneath her arm to take some of her weight. The both of them flushed at the closeness as they moved quietly to the pool of water.

He helped her lower to the ground to sit parallel with the water's edge, legs straight. She twisted her body to look at her reflection and groaned. Her hair was singed and blackened at its wildly uneven ends. At the bulk's shortest, it was at her throat, the longest brushing down the top of her chest. She'd have no choice but to do what her Commander had asked, and cut her hair. She noticed the bruises at her nose were mostly gone, a small discoloration the only evidence that it was broken just a couple days ago. There were some scrapes and cuts from the day's battles that decorated her face but she knew they'd be gone by morning. She found herself healing in her reflection, but did not find the answer she was hoping for in the calm water.

Solas peered over her shoulder to meet her eyes in the water's image, smiling softly. "It is not too bad. You would be beautiful with none,  _ma vhenan_." When her mirrored expression became confused, he settled himself beside her and spoke in amorous tones. "I told you, I am done pretending. I care for you, that will not change. If you'll let me, I would be honored to help you find what it is you are looking for."

"My heart." Rhawlin's words came out teasing, but the exhaustion behind them made it obvious to the both of them how true the words were. It was a harsh answer to his reiterated admission, and she sighed sadly to watch his expression become hurt. "It isn't personal. Someone told me I'd learn to re-find my heart in this place. I wouldn't have even come here if it didn't feel like the right time. When will I be back in Crestwood any time soon? I didn't mean to bring you with me, and I'm sorry."

"Well, you won't find your heart here." Solas spoke and Rhawlin snorted, not out of anger but out of her increasing weariness.

"Oh, yeah?"

"You have it still, somewhere. Perhaps in this place, you'll realize where."

"Well.. if that isn't taking the long way, I'm not sure what is." She joked, and they both chuckled lightly. There were heartbeats of silence between them as they stared off at the moon in the water. " _Ma serannas,_ _lethallin_. For saving my life."

Catching her gaze in the water again, Solas smiled. "There is no need for thanks. I doubt I would have survived your rescue if not for your prayer."

Rhawlin looked up from the water to seek out his actual eyes, turning herself to look at him beside her. He leaned forward to meet her gaze, unafraid of her scrutiny. She sought a trace of lying, of arrogance from having exclusive knowledge, and saw none.

"You cannot be-" Solas placed his fingers against her protesting lips, and muttered.

"Pray to him,  _ma vhenan._ " His other hand gripped her glowing one, pressing his palm against the Anchor. "Ask him something, and as long as I hold your mark, he will hear you. I will hear you."

Rhawlin stared at him and he stared back at her in return. Their wills conflicted silently, his to prove his truth pushing against her reluctance to change the image of her god. She did not pray, and he squeezed her fingers some and let his other hand fall to her shoulder. "Please. Is it not worth it to find the truth, and put an end to this?"

"Truth is not the end, but a beginning." She whispered, and prayed.

_Fen'Harel, Dread Wolf, do you hunt alone?_

"I have not hunted alone since I came to you,  _emma lath_." He answered.

The pulse of her mark was unmistakable and even as she was not filled with power, she could feel the response as true in her spirit. Rhawlin stared into the eyes of her friend, her love, her god, and silently let tears fall down her cheeks. She had been wrong, again, but at least he was real. He was real, and he was holding her, and he loved her. Her sobs came quietly at first as she rested her forehead on his shoulder, but they grew. They grew and he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her as close as their odd positions and her injuries would allow.

The two of them sat beneath the half-moon's glow, curled in each other's arms, basking in the relief and ambiguity of the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear everything will make sense by the end


	16. To Know a God's Sins

Walking in the Fade was starting to become a less unnatural feeling to Lavellan as she stepped carefully over the memories of sprawling elfroot. The world was glossed with a wavering film of gold, casting it in a dreamlike scene, much as it was. Edges of her vision shifted and rippled as if heat shimmered in the air, but she found herself incredibly comfortable. Looking around at the plethora of trees that filtered the sun, hearing the echo of running halla, she knew the memory to be within the Emerald Graves.

Deep within the forest, there were little landmarks to direct them, yet she knew the place for having been lost there before during travels. The woods seemed to rustle and whisper amongst itself, sharing secrets between the elvhen souls that grew from them. For a moment she wondered what stories they told, what gossip they had, but she had no need to question. It did not surprise her much to suddenly feel his hands from behind, one placed gently on her hip while the other interlocked with one of hers.

Solas stepped forward, forcing the other elf to follow, and guided her gracefully to the side. She was unprepared for the small dance, however and stumbling with her uncertainty, she fell back into his chest. He laughed, lifting her straight by the hand he held and spinning her to meet his gaze. When Rhawlin saw the face of her love and god, she smiled, and he in return. He stepped forward again, she stepped back, and they swayed in the music of wind and trees.

“ _Emma lath_ , you are daring beyond my comprehension to fall asleep in the Dread Wolf's arms.” Solas spoke to her softly, careful not to overpower the gentle ballad that developed from nowhere. The cadence seemed to sync with their steps, rather than the couple adapting to the rhythm of the serene music.

“The People would call me foolish. Yet I can imagine no safer place, _Fen'Enansal_.” Rhawlin smiled, and noticed she heard the faint plucking of a lute. Solas lifted her hand and spun her once before reclaiming her hip and drawing her closer.

“Blessed Wolf? You are too kind to this foolish man. Be at ease here, Rhawlin, and be true with your fears.” Solas guided her gently, spinning her with well-practiced steps. “To learn that your trusted companion is the Lord of Tricksters, does that not inspire fear or at least ambivalence?”

Rhawlin pouted somewhat as the music wavered in its strength, and she looked around to seek out its source. Solas' sudden reversal in steps forced her attention back to him, and she gracefully recovered to match him. “I understand that I should be more cautious; there is too much at stake for me to lose Thedas to a _harellan_. But I have thought of him, of you, as _hellathan_ for so long. You asked me long ago if the mark changed me, if it was the Dalish that brought me up to be as I am. But it was learning to act as you, shaping my decisions around the lessons in the stories of you.” Rhawlin felt the blush begin to creep into her cheeks. “However before I got the Anchor, and probably for some months thereafter, I might have been more threatened by learning the truth.. So maybe it did change me.”

“You do not fear the Dread Wolf, but how having his power might be able to sway you?” Solas asked and when Rhawlin nodded solemnly, he smiled. “How remarkable you are. Consider how much you have learned of our people since receiving that mark. Is it not more likely that you have accepted the truth so easily because your own views have shifted?” His smile was wise and mischievous for the moment she saw it before he spun her out and away from him, catching her by her fingers. She stood some feet from him, connected only by the gentle grip on her fingers, and nodded once.

“Probably.” She spoke and was nearly drowned out by a boost in the tune as it uplifted again, and Solas smiled. Tugging gently, he pulled her into his arm and lifted his free hand to trace her cheek with his fingers. Rhawlin closed her eyes and sighed, lifting her face to brush back against his fingers. The angle brought his thumb to brush her lips, catching just enough on the bottom to part them. Her breath caught and eyelids fluttered open to look up into his face.

“You must be curious then, at least, of my plans and what has brought me here.” Light huskiness in his voice did not entirely match the words he spoke and made them seem foreboding, but that promise of adventure was just what intrigued her.

“Certainly-” She breathed the word and swallowed softly. “In fact, I'm entirely unsure what to ask you first. Well.. do you intend at all to hurt the Inquisition, or Thedas?”

The music did not soften, but Solas' expression did. Her devotion to the cause, her people, even as danced in the Fade with the god she prayed to, was crucial enough to her to think only of them in the light of a wealth of new knowledge. His thumb rubbed up her cheekbone, beneath her eye, and endearment filled his voice.

“I would not dare harm your Inquisition. But I do not think there can be change without hurt, _ma vhenan_ , and Thedas may suffer some.” He smiled some when she just nodded once. “Regardless of where my journey takes me, I will always be an ally to the Inquisition, if it would have me.”

“And me?” The two word question came trembling from her, and Solas could feel the fear beginning to seep into the wavering air of the Fade.

“I will not dance around this, Rhawlin.” The small joke at their setting forced a small smile from the red elf. “I do not want to leave you, never again. But it is very possible that I might need to leave Skyhold. There is much I have to do to repair all that I destroyed in my foolish actions so long ago.”

“Fen'Harel, must you go to hunt alone?”

Solas looked into the eyes of his beloved rogue, seeking out an answer to a question that neither of them really knew. His hand fell to her hip again, the music changed into celebratory, joyful tunes, and he moved her around in a flurry of twirls and careful steps.

“At least for now, I will continue to hunt with you. When you wake from this, it will be a new day, and we will have more problems that need your solutions. For now, enansal'asha, I will show you of my memories..”

Solas guided her to look around the forest, where elves danced in places there had been trees. They all wore robes that she could recognize as ancient, all of them bare of vallaslin. They talked and laughed amongst each other, all in the old elven language. A number of them danced while three sat in a group some feet away playing music on instruments that she did not know. Rhawlin smiled to see the memory of her people strong and happy.

The rest of the trees shifted into stone walls, donned with torches crackling in odd magic fire. The elven guests continued with their jolly time, while a number of servant elves began to walk among them with trays. They wore the vallaslin of Mythal, and spoke only when absolutely necessary. Every one of them seemed defeated, crushed, broken beyond even daring to think of freedom. Rhawlin looked up from them to Solas, who watched with a pained snarl.

He showed her his memories of being a god, how it had started as a turf war between what became the Elven Pantheon and Forgotten Ones, and then amongst the Creators themselves. It had started as well intended, the powerful elves helping and defending their people against forces they deemed to be evil. Fen'Harel tried to stay neutral, as not to sacrifice the people who followed under his leadership, but often found himself within the skirmishes of others. In time, their people's praises turned into worshiping, and the elves that survived the battles came to be known as gods.

There had been an event, a meeting amongst the pantheon not far into their godhoods, when they didn't believe it to be true. They sat in a castle built by followers, Mythal's to be exact, at a large table where they discussed their worshipers. It was here that they created the foci, the orbs designed to channel their power through the fade and their people. In all their battles, the Forgotten Ones were still not defeated, and the threat to their follower bases was pushing them to more dangerous measures. The foci would build up power from its connection in the Fade, where the magic from elven people and their slaves was focused through the various incantations cloaked as religious ceremonies.

The Pantheon would use their orbs to unleash awful spells against the enemy forces, sorcery so extreme that it shifted and scarred the earth their very people stood on. It inspired their followers anew, and the cycle continued like that for several decades. Their worshipers enforced belief of their gods, took people, created slavery, to feed the Creator's appetites. Those who used to foci time after time seemed to gradually lose themselves to the power, and Fen'Harel was relieved that he used his very sparingly when he noticed the change in Andruil.

Mythal was not as harsh to her people, and did not condone has much as her brethren did. Her friendship with Fen'Harel blossomed through their shared ideas of cunning over violence, and they spent a lot of time finding ways to save their people without forcing them to become reliant. Enviousof the bond between them, Elgar'nan tried to kill his bride in a jealous rage.

Another meeting, deeper into their godhoods, where their belief in their own holiness was as real as the blood their people spilled for them. Watching the memory, Rhawlin immediately recognized the wine cups that Elgar'Nan's servants passed out among the Creators. She saw the single scratch down the curve of Mythal's glass, nearly invisible passed the dark alcohol within it. The red elf reached out as if she would call to the goddess, as if she would save her.

It was Fen'Harel who stood and called to her. He looked so young, as if he were only just becoming an adult, though Rhawlin had just watched him live through several lifetimes. Dark hair, wound in braids and dreads, fell over half of his head and framed his ears that glittered with a number of piercings. She took a moment to look up at Solas and the small blush that tinted his cheeks.

It was revealed that her drink was poisoned, and Mythal gifted the set of glasses to the Dread Wolf as thanks. Fen'Harel knew that his dear friend's husband was behind the attempt, but brushed it aside as many of his fellow gods had tried to kill each other a few times in the wake of the power-induced madness.

The memory shifted to a delicate kiss. Fen'Harel often used the foci in his possession to answer small prayers, give small blessings in exchange for some clever price, and took this price from the slave woman who had called to him. She was marked with Falon'Din yet had called to the wolf to save her life from bandits, imploring with him that she had never even known love.

He learned much of the other gods' slaves from this woman, how very disposable the were to their masters, how terrible life was for them. Answering that small prayer sparked the rebellion of the already restless god. Rhawlin watched him take the form of a wolf and race through the lands until he reached his, watched him create a spell to remove the tattoos of slavery, and watched him begin a new war with his own brothers and sisters. Most of the Creators responded in anger and violence when Fen'Harel would remove the slaves' vallaslin, of those who allowed it, and turned on not only the wolf, but oneanother.

They sent their faithful against each other, and Rhawlin watched in horror as her ancestors fell on the blades of their brethren. With the people divided, the Forgotten Ones gained more ground and stole victories from drained forces. Fen'Harel schemed his way through so many close calls with freeing slaves and warring foe and ally alike, Lavellan was surprised to see him living now. She watched as he fought to keep peace until Mythal was murdered, a scene she was not shown, and the red elf dare not look up at Solas as she watched his older self grieve.

The goddess' shattered foci lay in pieces around Fen'Harel's trembling body, and Mythal's crumpled one in front of him. Still gripped in her hand was a piece of her orb, the shard seeming to drink in the quickly fading essence of her magic. A few words passed between them, inaudible to the dream's audience, before her eyes slid to a close. A screaming howl of rage ripped through Fen'Harel, face contorted into a wolfish snarl and tears streaming steadily down his cheeks. The memory was so vivid, fresh as a new wound, that Rhawlin could feel the vibrations of the pained wail tremor down her spine and raise bumps on her skin. The transition from elf to six-eyed shadowed wolf was fluid, quick, and the girl nearly missed it as he rushed off to the horizon where a battle waged.

Around him, the rest of the Pantheon threw large and deadly magics and their people at each other and the Forgotten Ones, who replied in wicked, far more focused attacks. Praise of his followers, freed slaves and desperate pleas of dying elvhen fueled Fen'Harel's foci and his rage. The spell he wove in the midst of it all was sloppy, far from refined in his grieving madness, and took all of the magic within the orb and himself. The Dread Wolf only got to see a moment of the quiet and peace his sealing magic had brought before the effort of it all drove him into _uthenera._ The last thing Rhawlin saw in the memory were elves and wolves she knew to follow Fen'Harel needlessly rush to his aid.

“Mythal tried to convince me not to free them. She knew what would happen. But I was going to save them, arrogant as I was. Falon'Din sent people against me after I removed the markings of a large crop of his new slaves. That woman I saved from bandits, she wore his mark.. One of the wolves had to tear out her throat. I told Mythal I did not want to fight anymore, and she said I would not have had to, if not for my foolish pride.”

Rhawlin looked up at Solas and the scene around them changed. They stood in the darkness of a tomb. Torches on the stone walls bloomed into life with sickly green fire, and Rhawlin looked around to watch each of them light up a section. When she looked back, Solas was not beside her, but sitting on a coffin atop an altar in the middle of the room.

“This is where they put me. From the Fade, while I dreamt, I watched the fall of my people. For some time they still prayed to us, they still did the ceremonies to fill the foci with power. Some still do, of course. When I finally woke, I thought the People would let me help them. I could not stand to see them degraded so.” Solas moved to stand on the altar beside his own coffin, and looked down at it while he spoke. “When they did not, I became furious. I thought to force the change on them; I was going to bring back my brothers and sisters and re-establish the elves to how they were, before we came to war with each other.”

“...But you needed your orb to do that.” Rhawlin whispered, though it echoed throughout the mostly empty chamber, and took careful steps towards the altar but never touching it. She looked at the corners, four tall wolf totems sprouting from midway up some smell steps, facing out in each direction. It was hard to tell what stone they were made of, black and translucent and smoother than seemed possible. Rubies glinted in their eyes, matching a long stretch of red fabric that fell down two sides of the steps, held beneath the coffin. “How did Corypheus get it?”

“I.. I learned of him through my travels, found that he had survived the altercation with Hawke. I could think of no other mage that could, and would access the orb...”

Solas cringed to see the look of understanding followed so closely by horror play across the Inquisitor's face. The Fade was pierced with rage, and he was concerned that a demon may very well pick up on it and scout them out. Looking down at Rhawlin, seeing the betrayal of all she stood for show clearly in her eyes, he could not blame her. He watched her struggle to choke it down, watched her try to keep herself in check for the pursuit of knowledge and truth. Her words came grinding out yet breathy as her nostrils flared.

“You surrendered your foci to Corypheus. Did you use him to assassinate the Divine?”

“No, I only wanted him to open a rift.” Solas answered defensively.

“But you knew what he was doing, did you not? You said you were close by when the Breach was opened, you could have stopped all those deaths. You could have saved her, Solas!”

“I know, Rhawlin! I know..” Allowing his guilt and sorrow for the whole incident to finally surface in his tone, Solas choked on it, and sagged to sit on the top of the five steps on his altar. “At the time I would have paid any price to see Arlathan's glory restored, and Corypheus was supposed to die in the explosion as well, but.. but even then I knew, I could save them, I could stop it.. I didn't. And I should pay the price for it. But the People still need me, _emma lath_.. If not for me, we'd still be in glory.”

Rhawlin allowed some anger to drain from her, listening to his words and trying to consider how he'd felt after all that he'd done and gone through. However she was far from pleased and was not shy in showing it. “You mean _you_ would still be in glory. What about the elves that were slaves, Solas? Do you think someone that looks like me-” She made a harsh, flinging motion at her ears. “-would be well received in a place like that? That world you want to restore was flawed, just as this one is, and was left in the past for it, just as this one will be. All we can do is lead it towards what is right, even it takes a thousand tries. Going back to what was obviously not working will obviously not work!” It ended in a shout that echoed around them into silence, and she stared at him while he stared at his hands. She saw the tear fall, the trembling in his shoulders, and locked her jaw as she fought not to run to him.

“In this world, all elves are barely better than slaves. At least then, all those years ago, we had power. We had a place. I let it all fall for my own beliefs..”

“Perhaps if you hadn't began freeing the slaves, your brethren would not have feuded over it.” Rhawlin spoke and Solas sagged a bit more. “But they would have come to battle. They would have killed each other for power, and because of power. Mythal knew that, I think. She knew you would needlessly suffer for an inevitable outcome.. and you have. And you will again. So now you're going to fix what you can, because Arlathan is long gone but the Breach and Corypheus are still here.”

Solas raised his head to look at her, eyes narrowed in defiance though pain still lingered. She returned it with the best commanding look she could muster, though the irony of her daring to regulate the god she'd prayed to not long before was not lost on her. They stared at each other through the wavering of the Fade, a silent battle of ideals and wills while each contemplated the other's position. Eventually, Solas spoke.

“I will focus on the Breach and stopping Corypheus, Inquisitor, as I have been since joining the Inquisition. But I will see the status of elves restored when that business is finished.”

“We'll see what sort of status they get, Dread Wolf. Elves are not the only people in Thedas any more. I do not argue that they should be elevated, but I would not put humans in the place our people have been in for so long.” The red elf's expression softened somewhat, smirking just slightly. “Can you imagine Cassandra or Vivienne in an alienage?”

Solas' eyes calmed in return and he chuckled softly. “No, I cannot. In that case, you are right. None should be treated as such.” He rose to his feet and took a long, stabling breath. “I haven't said so out loud, Rhawlin, so- I am sorry for giving my foci to Corypheus, and allowing such destruction. I am sorry for lying to you all this time. I hope you can understand why I have done all that I have.”

“I do understand, even if I do not approve. I will not hold your old mistakes against you, Fen'Harel, for you have acted to better the lives of the elvhen.” Rhawlin moved as close as she could to the steps of the altar and placed her hands on her hips. “But.. I want to help you from here on out. And.. Solas, if you lie to me again or endanger my people.. No amount of love in my heart, or belief in you or who you were or your ability to help rebuild Thedas, will stop me from driving a dagger in your heart.”

Solas laughed out loud, tossing his head back for a moment before taking the steps down to meet her. One step above her, he stared down into the woman's eyes, his face reflecting the youthful arrogance of the god Fen'Harel. “ _Ma vhenan_ , I would have it no other way. You've challenged my way of thinking every step since I met you.”

“As you have for me.” Rhawlin craned her neck to look up at him, but did not allow the demeaning position to falter her command. “I do not use these words lightly. Through the Breach, Corypheus, and rebuilding our people, we are in this together.”

Solas stared down at her, forcing himself to retain the look of pride though the shifting of their relationship dynamic made him uneasy. It had been too long since he saw another as equal.. After a minute, he nodded, unsure of whether or not he was speaking the truth when he told her, “Yes, Rhawlin.”

 

 

Rhawlin woke with a start and a hurried intake of breath. Pain came real and sudden as she woke in the silken sheets, in her own bed in her own room, in Skyhold.

 


	17. The Witch's Snare

Being in lockdown as never something that really upset Rhawlin. In the alienage when she was a child, well, of course she was restricted to the crowded ghetto. It had always been a mystery to her why the couple that were moving elven children from Orlais to the Free Marches kept her hidden in the horse-drawn coach, when there was so much outside around them. Too much time with clan Lavellan was spent being watched, contained, as if she were a virus that might spread to the rest of them. None of that ever really bothered her passed undeniable curiosity. But _this_. This was ridiculous.

Leader of the Inquisition, the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, was confined to her room.

Injuries she'd sustained in Crestwood were severe, so much so that Solas' magic could not heal it all in one attempt. Healers would come to her every day at random times to poke and prod at her with magic, potions and tools. Whenever one of the healers would come into her room and catch her not in bed, either reading at her desk, shouting kind words at training soldiers from her balcony, or some other small task to ease her boredom, they tattled on her to Cullen. The Commander would then have some serious words with her about her health, duty, and responsibility to care for them both. After having to talk to her three times, he'd assigned some of the female soldiers as her personal guard under the ruse of her protection, but Rhawlin knew they were there to silently dissuade her.

Having their leader indisposed left the Inquisition... bored. Dorian and Varric visited regularly, and Cole was there with her more often than not, offering help of any kind. The Inner Circle mostly abandoned their training without Rhawlin to harp on them about it, so the week she was bed-ridden was the week they did almost nothing constructive for their cause.

Three days in, the investigation began. No one had been in the Throne Room when Solas brought Rhawlin back from Crestwood in the wee hours of the night, and his explanation the next morning of her injuries being inflicted by a lone red templar just minutes after the rest of her squad was supposed to have been headed back to the village did not sit well with a number of the Circle. Cassandra and Varric both swore that he was right behind them when it happened, though partly from embarrassment in being too caught up in their flirtatious (mostly on Varric's part) conversation to pay enough mind. It was a comment from Vivienne that day that made Iron Bull start to question.

“Solas has been helping to train the younger mages. I do not think they should learn in such an unrefined way.” The woman spoke to the two other magic users sitting at the library table more than the qunari that was hovering about. He and Dorian would exchange small smiles every once in a while, and Morrigan would pretend not to notice. But the Bull was not smiling this time and the necromancer quirked a brow at him.

“I learned in a rather unrefined way, Enchantress.” Morrigan spoke, not defensively as one might imagine, but as if she were simply restating a fact.

“My apologies if that is so, Lady Morrigan, but you have refined yourself. He is content to look and act as a hobo and I do not think our soldiers should present themselves as such.” Vivienne responded, a small hint of apology in her voice, only enough to retain her good image. Morrigan nodded once, turning a page in the book she hadn't looked up from.

“If it keeps 'em alive, whats it matter?” Bull grunted, but continued before they could answer. “Does anyone know if he's even visited Rhawlin since she's been grounded?”

“I do not believe he has..” Dorian spoke apprehensively, worried with the path the conversation might take.

“And no one thinks that's weird? You're sitting here worried about his style.” The Bull pulled up a chair from a nearby table and sat at the end so he could watch all of their faces. “I don't like not knowing what happened, and I don't think Rhawlin is telling the whole truth.”

Vivienne tilted her head back somewhat, hiding her curiosity behind a blank, prideful face. “The Inquisitor went through much that night. It would be unfair to expect her to recall every detail.”

“You know what I mean. She said she needed some time alone to figure stuff out, and then she was attacked and contained by _one_ templar and Solas just _happened_ to show up.” He huffed, then settled back into his chair. Dorian rolled his eyes and smiled some.

“It's cute that you're so protective of our leader, Bull, but it _was_ a behemoth. And I would not be surprised if Solas announced to the Seeker and Storyteller of his departure, and they simply.. did not hear.” Dorian chuckled softly and turned the page in his own book. “I do not think Solas would be so idiotic.”

“First off, you're the cute one.” It should have been a compliment, but Bull's gruff voice implied it to be a serious matter. An inside joke between them, and Dorian chuckled again. “Secondly, it must have been done quickly then. Varric said he and Cassandra waited at the inn in town for a while before heading back. Said it was a pain in the ass convincing the mage there to activate the waystone. Lucky our soldiers needed a break after the battle too.”

Morrigan shook her head in lingering disbelief and looked up from the pages. “I find it odd that they did not seek them out. They knew the direction Rhawlin was heading, they noticed Solas was gone, even if it was long after the fact.”

Dorian and Iron Bull exchanged a knowing look before he Tevinter mage responded. “They probably assumed Solas went after her, and decided to just.. enjoy their time alone. They don't get much of that.”

Morrigan parted her lips in a small 'o', eyes sliding closed as she chided herself for not understanding earlier. It had been frustrating to learn that the leader, important as she was, had not only been injured, but the only witness of the event was the elf she was so uncertain about. It took her attention from smaller details, and that was completely unacceptable.

“The point does stand; Solas and Rhawlin should have been back sooner.” Vivienne returned the conversation to Iron Bull's worries.

“Exactly. Somehow none of us saw them get back until the morning when Cassandra checked her room. Where had they been?” Bull reiterated.

There was silence amongst the four of them as they considered it, all of them all too aware of the elves' previous relationship. Morrigan considered it with other things; Rhawlin's prayers, the Well's voices muttering hints and cryptic things, and the few things she'd pried from the spirit-human Cole. The boy was incredibly stubborn with his secrets for barely understanding the nuances behind them.

Vivienne made a few ' _tsk_ '-ing sounds before looking back down at her book. “I do not want to know what Lady Lavellan and that hobo were doing, I've decided. We have been tasked with researching that ridiculous chest they returned with. Which reminds me, why exactly are you here?” She asked, looking at the qunari. Dorian answered.

“He knows a lot more than you realize, Lady Vivienne. He's helped me understand a number of things in my readings.” Dorian smiled some to see the light blush and sheepish grin on Bull's face. “And he's nice to look at.”

The three mages laughed, softly as not to disturb the few others in the library, and Bull grinned wider and nodded slowly.

“Well.. I might have a lead. Excuse me, I must collect a book from my quarters.” Vivienne excused herself with a curtsey and walked from the room with sharp, clacking heels on the stone. Dorian passed Bull one of the books they had picked as possibly containing relevant information and the three remaining read in silence for only a few minutes.

“I must ask a favor of you, Pavus.” Morrigan spoke, again not looking from the pages in front of her. Her natural intelligence made multitasking easy, but dealing with the voices had trained her to become very adept at it.

“Oh? Be careful what you ask for, my lady.” He teased in response.

“Tell me what Rhawlin's religion is.”

The question was very personal, and spoken so suddenly in such a casual way. Dorian blinked up from his book to stare at her, not insulted, but curious. “You seem serious. Intent on knowing?”

“Yes. I have a theory. I cannot understand why exactly, but it is important for me to know.” Morrigan still did not look up from her book, but her instincts, her will, here focused on the man beside her. Dorian looked up at Iron Bull, who was looking at her with curiosity, and scrunched his nose in thought.

“That is not something I can do, for a number of reasons. I am not sure exactly how to answer, but more importantly, it is not my place to say. If it is so important, ask her.”

“I.. have not asked her outright, but I have asked enough about it. She is unwilling to tell me.”

“Have you explained that it is important to you?” Iron Bull asked, his voice low.

“I have not. I do not think she would appreciate my probing, for the target of my studies is the elf she has fallen for. That Solas is not what he seems, and I am worried he will use her for the Anchor she possesses. If I knew what he was..” Morrigan's voice dipped lower and lower to ensure that no one who might be around could hear her. Dorian and Bull both leaned in closer to hear, and continued in similar whispers.

“I know that you dislike him, Morrigan. It's not a secret around here, although there was this weird rumor that you bedded him, but it died quickly enough. He is not that bad, I assure you.”

“Yeah, he's always got her back, even when they weren't talking. Are they even talking now?” Bull shifted his eye to look at Dorian as he asked, who looked thoughtful for a second before shrugging.

“You are both close to her, and I believe you would not betray her. However, can you honestly tell me he does not seem.. different? Not what he seems?” Morrigan's voice came with just a tiny tinge of pleading, her book falling to the table.

“I.. I suppose so. But he has not acted against us in any way.” Dorian whispered, reluctant.

“Perhaps the Inquisition acts in a way that furthers his goals. I do not know. But there is too much at stake for Lavellan to fall to his tricks.”

_Tricks_. It resonated in her mind, echoed softly by the swarming voices. She brushed it aside as she did many things, and looked to Dorian with her full yellow gaze.

“If you feel so strongly.. perhaps we can arrange something? I'm not sure.” The Necromancer winced with indecision and looked up at Bull, who furrowed his brow in thought.

“She's an open minded chick. If we explain why its important, maybe she'd explain some things to ya. I dunno.”

The familiar clacking returned followed by the soft creak of the library door swinging closed. Iron Bull looked up to see the Enchantress returning with an armful of books and a proud swagger to her step.

“Please look into it for me. Thank you.” Morrigan whispered one last time and the three of them straightened, angling their heads as if they'd been reading the whole time, and Dorian spoke one of the lines from the page he was on, as if he'd been announcing his findings to the other two. He impressed himself that the line was actually partially related, about magical locks, and Vivienne greeted them with dropping the books on the table. They continued to read into the odd chest that the red templars had been seeking in Crestwood in relative silence, only speaking when they'd find a lead or ask an opinion.

 

 

“Just consider it, Rhawlin?” Dorian asked, a small smile on his face as he was greeted with less adversity than imagined. He sat on her bed, sinking into the plush of blue velveteen covers while she laid on top of it just inches away. His hand rested on her forearm, a comforting touch to ensure her that she wouldn't come to harm.

“I'll consider it, I will. But I'm telling you, there really isn't much to be said.” It grieved Rhawlin to fib. Dorian's request to explain what exactly she believed at the moment made her uncomfortable, when it had only been days that she learned what exactly it was herself. Solas had not come to see her, and being 'healed' by others was frustrating and painful, as the bruising around the stitches on her damaged wrist showed. So, with the guards in place, all she could do was lay in bed and question Solas and Fen'Harel and what it meant to be a believer. The closest she could get to the truth was that she was a sub-foci for Fen'Harel, who she prayed to and who was revered as a god but didn't start as one, doesn't consider himself one, who is now an agent of the Inquisition and thus below her, under her command. Obviously it would be a rough conversation to explain all of that.

“She's worried, and she doesn't want to upset you by saying so. I'm not sure what exactly she's worried about but you know, the Well of Sorrows business probably gave her a lot of questions. Can you imagine?”

She couldn't, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. Learning the truth about the man she loved was damaging, and her spirit felt rather numb for it. And still, she had questions. To have all of that, and still presented with the ever-pressing voices urging you to find more truths, as Morrigan has described it, would be truly breaking. Rhawlin sighed and turned her head away from him on her pillow.

“What would she have to be worried about? I cannot see the will of Mythal being interested in me, beyond the fact that I'm an elf.”

“Maybe you're meant for more than you realize, then.” Dorian said with a grin, voice light and nearly teasing. Rhawlin laughed once, a sudden yelp, but did not look back at him.

“I'm already meant for so much, what else could there possibly be?”

“I don't know, sweetie, but maybe Morrigan could help you find out. Or at least, give you some answers in return.”

She took a deep breath that shifted her whole body and popped her spine, before releasing it as a slow sigh. “Honestly, Dorian, I'm still confused. I don't know what I would tell her. I need to talk to Solas..”

“Solas? Why?” He quirked his brow anxiously, hearing the elf man's name be brought up again.

Rhawlin turned her head finally and looked up at her friend, mouth curved into a light grimace. “He's been helping me figure it out.”

“He has? How unlike him.” Dorian released her arm and folded one leg over the other, hands in his lap. “Are you two.. getting along?”

Hearing the double meaning behind his question, she shrugged as much as her laying position would allow. “I do not know. I know we both want to get along, but.. well there is too much going on. Too much at stake right now to even think about it.”

“You are a good leader, Rhawlin. I can't say everyone would be happy about it but, you're allowed to follow your heart too, and we'd all support you. It's not like you've got much more to do right now anyway.”

Rhawlin stared at him for several seconds, touched by his words but bitter with how much she knew, that he did not. And Dorian hid his worry that Morrigan might be on to something, that Solas could be something dangerous, and it was possible that Rhawlin could lose herself to him. The two of them hid their worries behind beliefs that the other was right, that things weren't as negative as they seemed. However Rhawlin did not respond, so Dorian continued.

“It's Solas that Morrigan is worried about, Rhawlin. I believe he is a good man, and I believe you wouldn't fall for someone who would betray us. But.. its hard not to be suspicious, you know, when you are missing all night and he brings you back with broken bones. We aren't dumb, we know you haven't said everything, and we know you've made Cole promise to be quiet, so what is it you aren't telling me? What actually happened?”

“What I told you is the truth. I let my guard down when I shouldn't have. And I won't deny that there is more to the story, that more happened that night, but..” She paused, taking a shaking breath, and blurted. “Dorian I don't know what to do. I know too much, I made promises I shouldn't have and I don't know the personal stakes. My Inquisition is protected, it will not fall to my decisions, but I very well might..” She looked at Dorian's surprised and confused face, and nodded. “I know, I know, I'm only making it worse. Don't worry, I will be fine, I will see Corypheus die. Solas is helping me, that's all I can really say. I know what I'm doing, even if I don't know how it will effect me later. For now, The Breach and Corypheus are still the most pressing, and those are the things we need to focus on. Speaking of, did you learn anything about that damned chest?”

Dorian sighed in dissatisfaction, but also relief that Rhawlin was opening somewhat and Solas didn't seem to be a worry to her. He shot her a look of 'this isn't over', before beginning to recall the few key points the group of mages and Bull had found.

 

When morning came on the next day, day four, Dorian called down to Solas in his quarters from the library above. After Solas invited him down, the two mages sat on the white couch beside the staircase and talked. Dorian asked him to recall the events of the night in Crestwood again, adding that Rhawlin had admitted that more had happened but that it was not something she wanted to discuss without consulting the elf man first. Solas retold the same story, the actual truth that seemed to be the root of everyone's suspicion, and then confirmed that he and Rhawlin had exchanged words after taking shelter away from coming reinforcements.

“I take it that you are not willing to discuss what was said.” Dorian asked, lounging back into the few pillows.

“I am afraid not. I have been allowing Rhawlin time to think on what she and I talked about, and I must insist our shared knowledge not become common knowledge. I am pleased to hear she was unwilling to disclose it, even to someone she holds so close, as she does you. I hope that does not offend you.”

“Ah, she is a good woman. I can't be angry that she didn't want to spill something that you don't want known. Especially when you're helping her, somehow.” Dorian sighed, lifting his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Solas watched him for a moment before speaking.

“You seem distressed, Dorian. I assume you did not get the answers you sought.”

“You'd be right there. It seems like Rhawlin getting hurt has got everyone in a tizzy. I'm sorry you're the object of scrutiny, but you understand how it looked. Morrigan especially seems unconvinced, though that's not surprising.”

Solas narrowed his eyes, hearing the name of the woman who'd been so intent on outing him on something she didn't even understand. A sigh passed his lips as he turned his gaze upwards, thinking out loud. “That damned witch is so persistent.”

“Oh? She bothers you about, whatever it is you're hiding, often then?”

Solas grimaced, realizing he'd admitted in some way that he was not all that he seemed. “I would say she bothers me by insisting I am hiding.”

Dorian laughed softly, reaching out the grip the other man's shoulder solidly. “Relax. We've all got secrets. But you know the secrets will come out eventually.”

“That is true. I hope when that time comes, you will still want to converse with me like this.”

“Could it be that bad, Solas?” Dorian asked, his tone suspicious.

“It _could_ be. But I will do my best to ensure it isn't.”

 

What Dorian told Morrigan about the conversations with the elves was that Rhawlin would consider talking to the witch about her religion, that he was sure that they were telling the truth and Solas was helping her, and whatever else that had happened in Crestwood was personal between them.

 

On day six, Rhawlin was allowed to attend a war meeting with the help of several of her guards. Faye had been part of the personal guard since Cullen appointed them, and helped The Inquisitor up and down the stairs or with clearing her a path or whatever else she needed, and was the only of the guard to stay by her side in the meeting. Even as she waded into her crowded Throne Room with a limp, the people cheered, pleased to see their leader after so long. The meeting was short, about resources and the delayed release of the charms, in which Faye learned of their existence and volunteered to help distribute them after their leader became well, and Rhawlin was reminded to write some sort of speech for them. But the red elf smiled the whole time, more than pleased to be out of her quarters and among her people again.

That was until Morrigan confronted her. Careful words convinced the Inquisitor and her guard to allow the witch to follow them back into Rhawlin's room, but not without the elf's trepidation after the talk with Dorian some days before. Once resettled into her bed, she stared at the witch standing beside her, and sighed.

“What is it you need?” She asked, voice feigning exhaustion.

“There are a number of things, Inquisitor. To start, I believe we have found a way to open the chest and why Corypheus is interested in it.”

“That's wonderful!” Rhawlin smiled, her golden eyes gleaming. “What can you tell me?”

“The chest itself is a relic from the Glory Age and the Exalted March of the Dales. The last powerful elven mages, usually those who still worshiped the Gods, created chests like these to house and protect the few items of history and power they had collected since Arlathan's fall. This particular one seems a tad.. younger. Made more recently, though several lifetimes ago.”

Rhawlin blinked. “Then it could hold some artifact of power that Corypheus could somehow use?”

“Precisely.”

The elf grimaced some, the introduction of another unknown unsettling her already rocky plans. “Well.. we may know how to open it?”

“Yes. An elf mage of great power may be able to dispel it. Iron Bull approached one of his people. Dalish, he called her. She insists she has no idea on what to do, and the qunari seems to think she is earnest in that even if it was partially said to cover her abilities.”

“So... Solas.. would have to open it.”

“Yes.”

This news unsettled her more. Solas was open about the fact that he could hurt Thedas, and the truce they agreed to was not yet fleshed out. It unnerved her to think he might claim it, and use it to move his plans forward. Recalling his promise to focus on the more immediate threat, she sighed, and continued.

“Any idea what's inside it?”

Morrigan carefully settled herself on the edge of the bed, hands on her knees, and looked down at the elf. “I'm sure you know the story of The Courser and The Wolf?”

Rhawlin scoffed slightly. It was not her favorite tale, as it did not paint the Dread Wolf as the clever beast she'd known him as. The story that he sought to kill an old Keeper, simply because they were kind, and that the Keeper's mabari defended them even in the Fade. It matched Fen'Harel's movements and finally caught him by the tail, which the wolf chewed off to free himself. It is told that Fen'Harel would not approach tribes with mabari or dogs after that.

“I will take that as a yes. I believe the chest contains Fen'Harel's Tail.” Morrigan watched the mild shock play on Rhawlin's face. “Are you sure Solas should do this?”

The elf looked down the length of the blanket covering her body, her mind rushing with questions. For the days she'd spent alone, she had not prayed to him or called for him, and suddenly she needed the god by her side. Yet she dare not call for him with the Anchor, lest Morrigan see or feel the shifting of the Fade or power in the mark. Or perhaps it was because she did not truly wish to see him, to face what she might have to do.

“Not without you and I there, Morrigan. I.. I may need your help.”

“I shall advise you as best I can, Lady Lavellan.” Morrigan said with a slowly curving smile, the voices whispering things that her mind could connect, and she was certain she was beginning to uncover the truth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's a lot of facts being thrown all around and whoo am i sorry. Also I'm sorry the posting speed has slowed some, I've been fighting writer's block and lack of drive on top of being busy. Look forward to some softness and fluff and nice things next chapter cause all this tension is killing me.


	18. Worship, In Heart and Body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, THERE IS SMUT IN THIS CHAPTER.  
> Allow me to reiterate that I have never posted my writing before, and sort of threw caution to the wind when I wrote this.  
> \---------- --------- --------- these lines mean that smut is coming soon, so stop reading if its not something you're interested in.

“Scarlet, I really don't think this is a good idea.” Varric muttered softly as he watched his leader peek her head out of the bottom door to her quarters into the Throne Room. The oil in the torches had been set low for the late night, and the couple guards on duty by the main door were tired and easy to get by unnoticed.

“Is that what I'm known for, Varric? Good ideas?” Rhawlin whispered her response right before she slipped out, her steps silent as she glided down the steps and slopes.

“Well.. sort of..” Varric made little more noise as he followed, but the slightly clanking armor of clumsy steps soon after made the two rogues flinch. Faye was still awkward in her armor and though much quieter than her typical marching, her sneaking was far from sly. The two rogues slid against the opposite wall, half-way down the room, and held themselves to the shadows.

“Okay bringing her was the bad idea.” The dwarf grumbled, sidling himself down the wall towards their goal. He looked over at the guards by the door, who only saw another of the soldiers having a rough walk in the middle of the night, which had become a more common sight in the week before with the mild break and often overdrinking, and waved her off with soft laughter.

“She insisted, Varric. And she's not so bad.” Rhawlin smiled at her loyal guard and companion that was then struggling to keep her steps and armor from making noise. With the two of them slowly inching down against the wall, it did not take long for Faye to catch up to them and join their slow progress.

Rhawlin's hand itched, in the palm where she wasn't even certain there was still flesh in the cracks of the mark, as they moved their way towards Solas' door. Her once-broken knee braced against the wooden frame, causing her to seethe silently with a contorted face that only her dear dwarven friend could see.

“See you're not even well yet. I'm sure this could wait at least until-”

He was suddenly faced with a swirling, glowing mixture of greens and light, illuminating his face and reproducing his amber gaze to shining jade. The Inquisitor held her hand up to silence him, and ended up starling him with the sudden presence of the magic. He gasped, stepping backwards and into the armored young woman behind him, sending them both clattering softly to the ground.

Quiet for a moment, and the three of them let out anxious breaths in their half-knelt and barely recovered positions. Small reliefs filled the trio just before the quiet creek of the room's inner door came muffled from behind the door next to them. Rhawlin's lips parted in mild horror before she pressed her index finger to her lips, signaling they remain silent, and cast her Cloak of Shadows over the three of them.

It was another few seconds before Solas opened the outer door to the Throne Room from his own quarters. His gray-blue eyes scanned the area, pausing at the two guards who both shrugged their ignorance. Behind the cloak, Rhawlin rolled her eyes and made a mental note to tell Cullen of their ineptitude.

Solas took another moment to look about, and for a moment settled on the Inquisitor just feet away and on the ground below him. Her heart leapt, breath caught in the back of her throat behind the lump of fear that refused to move so long as the eyes she so loved to gaze into, hovered their attention on her shrouded form.

The elf man let out a sigh before turning around and walking back into his quarters, the soft thump of his door closing behind him. Again, the three of them released their breaths in quiet, relieved sighs. Rhawlin wiped a small bead of sweat from her brow and released the Cloak, allowing the shades to subtly melt off their bodies into the nothingness.

“Why are we even doing this?” Varric asked, hushed and breathy.

“Can't tell you much.” She responded in a similar whisper.

“Then why are we here?” He made a motion to himself and Faye.

“Faye is here because she won't leave me alone. Takes her position very seriously.” Rhawlin looked over at Faye, who's brown eyes seemed too bright for the darkness and waning flame of the torches. Her unbound hair fell just passed her shoulders, nearly black in the dark and acting as a hood. The woman's prideful smile lit her face, and the red elf could not help but smile in return.

“And me?”

“You're here to keep Faye occupied. Don't get caught, guys, I'll deny everything and you'll have Cullen to deal with.” Rhawlin stuck out her tongue before grinning, throwing down a burst of shadows before quietly opening and slipping through the first door, ignoring their hushed protests.

Between the two doors, she allowed the cloak to linger as she made sure the first one closed behind her. With her knee was throbbing lightly, the kneeling became awkward, and she allowed herself to carefully sit on the stone floor. Comfortable, she focused on the door between herself and the elf man and listened, now aware that he was still awake.

When she asked herself, she was not completely certain what she was seeking from him. The initial plan was to sort through his things, look for anything that might shed some light on his plans for the elves and his brethren. When Varric had told her shortly after dinner that Solas had not left his room since midday, she shifted it to sneaking in while he was sleeping and stealing what looked like it might be important to be studied later. Even as she acted on that plan, she knew it to be wrong and knew that it would fail. She was thankful it failed the way it did, and not in the midst of being caught in his desk drawers or journals.

But now, what was she hoping to gain? Rhawlin had initially assumed her rush to hunt for answers was driven with the impending ritual for opening the _Darla'llenaris_ , as Morrigan began calling the small cursed elven chest. Rusty with her native language, she knew the more literal translation as 'a small home for eternity', and handing something with a title like that over to a god to open, who might take and abuse its power (though rightfully his), did not settle well with her. She did not have enough information, and being without made her feel powerless. What did she possibly hope to discover by eavesdropping now, and how could she dare try to sneak by and steal from her god, _the_ god of tricksters, Fen'Harel?

 

_Heruamin lotirien_  
_Alai uethri maeria_  
_Halurocon yalei nam bahna_  
_Dolin nereba maome_

 

A familiar tune that she heard often in the tavern, and vaguely in memories throughout her life. Fera would hum it while he helped her sharpen her little daggers, she'd be sent on a hunt when clan Lavellan would sing the song in chorus and haunt the forests or mountains with the hymn. A young elven girl relaxing in one of the standing aravel with the clan in the Exalted plains, she was a giddy little thing as she dressed a straw dollie and sang the notes without knowing any of the words.

 

 

_Heruamin oh lonai  
Imwe naine beriole _

 

Solas' voice was soft as he chirped the words and Rhawlin blushed to hear the muffled beauty. It occurred to her she had never heard him sing before, and none at Skyhold had heard her sing either. Guilt flooded her as she realized the intimacy she was intruding on, as she would be none too pleased to learn if someone had spied on her singing. She resigned to leave him for the night, when he continued.

 

_Ame amin_  
_Halai lothi amin_  
_Noamin_

_Ame amin_  
_Halai lothi amin_  
_Noamin Heruamin_

 

Sad. When the bard in The Herald's Rest would sing the words in common tongue, it was always bittersweet, a beaten but not defeated theme in “I Am The One”. Solas' voice, a tad higher in his singing than she might have expected, was sad, grieving. Rhawlin relaxed against the stone wall behind her, warming with her body heat, and lost herself to a singing memory that wasn't quite hers.

Focus that had been so strictly settled on finding truth and defending her Inquisition was suddenly shattered, and her heart melted for the man who had lost so much. She thought that she had considered his sorrow when he revealed the truth of his foci and the Breach, was satisfied that what she had offered him was fair. And it was. But her lack of reactions were not. Solas had exposed the most despicable of his secrets, and none would blame her for the reactions she did have, Solas especially, but he had trusted her with more than just information. He had trusted her with his ongoing heartache and regrets, presented her the opportunity to see the parts of him none had known for thousands of years. Yet in the sudden threat he presented, Rhawlin did not notice and then insisted he was a risk that needed monitored.

Oh how she loathed herself. It had been all business and mistrust, their shared love forgotten. How could she not have considered how alone he was, how all that he had known and loved were gone to time. How could she not have noticed how desperately he needed someone to remind him that he was not the Bringer of Nightmares.

Had she been humming the tune? She felt herself go quiet, the vibrations of her voice go still in her chest, when the door began to creak open.

“Rhawlin..?”

Tear-lined golden orbs shifted into the sudden light, looking into the silhouette of the man she mourned for in the doorway. It took some time to adjust before his features became clear to her, and she did not attempt to hide the adoration in her eyes when she finally did truly see him.

Solas' stormy eyes were confused, concerned, wrinkling his brow just enough to make the small scar on his forehead apparent. His full lips were open only slightly, as if he thought better of questioning her further. His normal tunic was gone, she could have sworn he had been wearing it when Varric's surprise nearly got them caught, and was replaced by an oversized one, faded blue, that fell to his thighs. Nothing else was changed on him, including the jawbone that hung from his neck, but seeing even that small variation forced her to consider him even further. It inspired more humility in her perception of the god, bringing him closer to earth, to her, and bringing her further into her realization and guilt.

“Solas..” She spoke softly, unsure on what to call him. His mortal title seemed appropriate for her recent understanding, though his expression gave no hint of whether or not he appreciated or agreed.

“It is very late. Is there something I can help you with?” His tone was soft, quieter than it needed to be between them even in the late night.

“Uhm, I..” Rhawlin sniffed, trying to force her composure. “I.. was looking for answers actually.. I should have just knocked, sorry. Can't sleep.” She tried to stand, as if it would be no problem, and did well to hide the pain from her nearly-healed knee as it strained to lift her, even smiling as the pain reassured her that she had not fallen into the Fade while drifting to his song.

“Well, being confined would drive me to an overactive mind as well. Come in, then, I have been having trouble falling asleep as well.” He pressed his back against the door and swept his arm towards the room, graceful and polite.

“Have you?” It was a tiny limp, a small misstep as she walked passed Solas and into his quarters, but the man saw it nonetheless, and filed it away for later. “You have not come to see me. I would have welcomed your company even hours before the sunrise.”

“Forgive me, Rhawlin, but I thought it best to give you some time to think.” Solas closed the door behind her and quickened his steps lightly to pull out his desk chair for her. “I did not want to put any further pressure on you.”

She settled herself into the seat slowly and carefully to cause no further pain than necessary; he noticed this as well. “I would have liked to see you at least once..”

“You could have sent for me.” He spoke, nonchalant, moving around to the other side of the desk and a chair that had only recently been re-added to his room.

Rhawlin sighed softly, easing into the back of the chair with her eyes sliding half closed. “True. I am old enough to ask for what I want.”

“Old enough indeed, if not entirely entitled to demand it.” He laughed, leaning his elbows onto the desk and peeking over them at her. She was not expecting to laugh with him, having foreseen the conversation as far more grim.

“I would not dare assume Fen'Harel would follow my every order.” Saying that sentence was another thing she did not expect from herself. She grimaced as soon as the words left her mouth, a near flinch, and looked at him with wide eyes.

His smile did not falter, and he simply looked at her with curious and teasing eyes. “You would be asking an awful lot of a god, _elvhen'da.”_

The red elf snorted, fearful anticipation shattering into short giggles as her glowing hand raised to muffle them. “I would hardly consider myself small. Humans have never known a more powerful elf.” She spoke between her parted fingers.

“That is true..” Solas' attention to her lips and laughter so close to bruised flesh brought his attention to her nearby wrist where her wounds were still apparent. Large bruises and near-mended cuts still decorated her skin where the behemoth had bitten down over her Mark. He 't _sk_ 'ed, head shaking some. “The healers did little. I am remorseful for not visiting despite your obstinacy. Your knee still bothers as well, does it not?”

Rhawlin flushed in mild anger, partly at his revelation of her stubbornness and condition, but mostly at her slipping skills. It had been too long since she had trained or sparred, and her body was showing it's slight softness. “Yes.”

“So why are you in your gear?” He motioned at the armor she wore for infiltrating enemy holdings or sneaking into groups of people. Her blush intensified and she sighed softly.

“Because I hoped to find some answers without you knowing.”

He pushed himself up from the chair and walked back over to her, kneeling down and pulling off the high leather boot from the injured leg. “Why would you do that, Inquisitor?” He spoke softly, hands already gaining their soothing glow.

“I.. could not handle not knowing that you might do..” Her voice was strained with pain, gasping lightly as the boot yanked momentarily on aching muscles. “..when this is all over. For your lost people.”

“Lost.. It is hard to say what I would do, Rhawlin.” He pressed his hands carefully over her knee, and could feel that there was certainly still swelling around the joint. “I can feel that time is moving even for me, here. Without the orb, my life will waste as any mortal's, so my time for repairing my mistakes is lessened until we retrieve it from Corypheus. It makes planning.. rather difficult. I am focusing on what is front of me for now, Inquisitor, as you have commanded.”

Rhawlin's breath caught even as her body was drained with pain and refilled with the ease of his magic. He was no longer immortal, an unsettling thought as she recalled all the close encounters her god had had with her during their journeys.

“I.. am sorry to hear that.” She murmured, and he chuckled softly.

“Try not to worry about it. When we get the foci back, I will have all the time in Thedas to free them.”

She nodded once and watched him heal her in silence. His hands traveled down her shin to ease some bruises, back up and over her knee to trace the pulled muscles in her thigh. Golden eyes fluttered closed as her pleased sigh came breathy, warm, and Solas grinned to hear it.

“You can come to me, Rhawlin. Ask me for answers, healing, a blessing. I will still be your god, and you can still worship me.”

The red elf opened her eyes and bowed her head to look down at him, heart sputtering at the invitation and how it tightened her stomach. “I am your leader. I am above you in this Inquisition, Solas. How would I worship what I command?”

All innocence and polite smiles, he moved to her side while one of his glowing hands rested on the hip of her injured leg. The other raised to gently grip her wrist that she idly held up, and she seethed softly at the reintroduction of pain.

“This Inquisition is not about what anyone's personal beliefs are, Rhawlin. You have proven that time and time again. It is about saving our world, restoring it, protecting it. _Dirth'ansal_ , for it is no one's business but your own.” When Rhawlin was quiet, he sighed. “Am I no longer worth your prayers? Is knowing I am now mortal, knowing it is me, too much to keep your faith in Fen'Harel?”

She blinked at him, kneeling by her side, and took a quick breath. “No.” She spoke, hoarse but forceful in its truth. “I will admit it is awkward. You must grant me understanding in that. But your power has come to me in times of need, you have answered my prayers and have shown me truths. There are still more to be found, but you are real. I am honestly just.. not sure how to praise what I command.”

“In secret. _Dirth'ansal_ , Rhawlin. Your blessings are only for you to feel, for us to know.” Releasing her wrist, Solas motioned for her to look at it, for it was whole and solid, bruises and scars alleviated.

“Yes, but..” She flexed her fingers, popping the joints, and rolled her wrist around with a small, embarrassed smile. “Do I put aside my feelings for worship? My command over you and our romance would not be so outrageous, but to court the god I praise.. How ludicrous..”

It was unlike her to be so blunt on personal matters, and Solas was surprised to hear it. He thought there was exhaustion in her voice, bitterness, and he felt guilty that her pain brought him immense joy. Knowing that she could still see him as something to be loved made his heart swell and he thought he felt it grate against his ribcage. However, the pain had to go, and he would heal it as he healed every ache she had, or would ever have.

“Sorry, Solas, I know its a dumb thing to hope fo-” Suddenly he was leaning above her, hand at her wrist raising to pinch the tip of her chin. It did not take much angling, and he stared into her wide eyes with kindness.

“ _Ma emma lath,_ _tel'abelas_. Even knowing all I have done, all I have kept from you, all that I am, you could love me? This is what is ludicrous to me, _vhenan_. Or is it miraculous? Yes. Miraculous is far more fitting. I will cherish and obey you, for you are the true blessing to this world, if you will have me at your side, if you will pray my name until your last breath.”

Solas held her chin solidly, but gently, not allowing her to avert her gaze without an answer to his request. Something about the way he demanded her praise was hungry, nearly threatening, and she knew to agree to him was to agree to something permanent, far longer than her Inquisitor title would hold. But his promise of love was kind and passionate, sharing of something beyond companionship, for as long as she would stand.

“Fen'Harel..” She breathed his name and his lips curled into a small grin. “I will bind my heart to you and sing your name until I am lost to this world, if you will allow me to see my people reborn by your side, within this short lifetime I hold. If you would promise not to allow me to wither, to see your personal vision accomplished, for I believe that all the world should see our glory beyond a walled kingdom. I would speak with my people's old gods, for gods you are to us, and teach the modern elvhen the truth.”

He smiled, touched again by her dedication to her people, of every race and creed. His fingers traced and spread to cup her jaw, and she leaned her cheek into the warmth of his still-glowing palm.

“Rhawlin, sly beast of a woman you are, you have leashed my ambitions and myself to your kind and stubborn heart. I promise to you, _ma vhenan_ , that I will share my triumph with you in a way that we both see fit, if we should find our solutions.”

“Fen'Harel, cunning wolf of a man, you've hid for too long and hunted alone for longer. We will hunt together, and I will be yours in heart and spirit for the rest of my life. I promise to you, _emma lath_ , that you will never be the villain and always a hero to me, and any who ask will hear a song of praise to you from my lips.”

Solas beamed, triumphant and overjoyed, that mellowed into a content and loving smirk as he stared into her half-lidded eyes A few tears rolled down her cheeks, leaving trails over her speckled skin that became erratic in the corners of her smile. “ _Sahlin,_ _ma ar lasa mada_ _uthelath._ _Var lath shiral ven'atisha._ ” He whispered, soothing.

She took a small breath, hands clenching into tiny fists. “ _Sahlin, ar ma lasa mada uthelath. Var lath dar bellenaris._ ” A serious, intense promise between the two of them, in words not often spoken between Dalish pairs or in unions between alienage couples. She turned her head to lay a tiny kiss on his palm, eyes closing for a brief moment before she smiled up at him.

His eyes begged the question, her strangled but jubilant chuckle and a tiny arch of her neck answered it.

Fen'Harel's kiss was strong, fierce in its passion while his fingers slid to weave into the hair at the base of her skull. Rhawlin dug her fingers into the soft fabric of his irregular tunic on his shoulders, yielding to him in a way she had considered impossible not long ago. Her returned kiss was as unpracticed as the few she had given to him before, fumbling with ragged breaths and an unwillingness to part.

He broke their kiss with a growling huff and pulled her sharply to her feet, breath hot against her mouth as he held her just close enough. The elf woman's lips parted as if to protest, and his came crashing down on hers again, with teeth and tongue, tasting and exploring. Shy with her kiss, she opened up to him slowly, and returned the messy embrace tentatively at first. His approving groan, a sound she had never heard before, caused a flush of heat to raise in her cheeks and her kiss to become deeper and less reserved.

Minutes went by before they truly parted, gasping and laughing and wound in each others embrace. His hands slid around her shoulders and waist, shifting her weight as he lifted her into his arms.

“It is late, _vhenan_ , and I have no bed to share. May I take you to your chambers, O Princess of the Inquisition?” Solas smiled, teasing. Her expression became annoyed, but the light blush and glee in her eyes betrayed how she enjoyed the cheesy nickname. She nodded with a feigned arrogant, impatient sigh.

“Well? Let us go then, elven servant.” The odd role reversal made them both laugh as he carried her out of his room, leaving her single boot, and through the Throne Room to her own quarters, somehow without being noticed.

At least, not noticed by the guards. Varric, who had made the best of the situation and began training Faye to sneak, watched Solas and Rhawlin with a mischievous grin from behind the cover of the Inquisitor's elegant throne with Faye fighting to keep her giggles silent behind him.

 

\---------- --------- ---------

 

There were a lot of stairs and steps, and Solas carried the Inquisitor to her room as if she weighed nothing. He deposited the red elf into the royal blue silk of her sheets, and marveled at the contrasting primary colors. Her blushing maroon skin was tinted nearly as red as rashvine, the gold of her eyes reflecting yellow light in the dimness of the room, framed by the darker sapphire of bedding. He smiled as she rushed to sit up, unwilling for the evening with him to end.

“Solas...” Lavellan began, but soon found herself without the words to continue. He smiled down at her, kind, understanding and sat himself on the bed beside her. Without a word, he lifted her hands in both of his, laying delicate kisses across her knuckles.

“I know there is much that needs talked about, _ma vhenan_. But finally, finally, I can hold you as I please.” His hands ran up her arms, gripping her elbows. “To know you won't cringe away from my touch-” Grasp loosening to gentle touches, his fingers ran up the undersides of her arm to trace up to her shoulders, and she shivered from the feeling even through the leather of her armor. “-that I can taste your lips-” And he did with a quick, gentle peck. “-that I can love you, _ma vhenan'ara_ , is such an overpowering joy.” He took her lips with his again, hands sliding to cradle her jaw.

Their kiss developed far slower than before, starting with gentleness and love as she returned it in kind, yet Solas did not let it linger there. A tiny bite on the elf woman's bottom lip elicited a sharp, moaning gasp from her. He grinned as he kissed the small area he'd bitten, one hand running down to brace against the small of her back. Rhawlin's small frame obeyed his press and she leaned deeper into the kiss, arms wrapped loosely around his neck.

It surprised and pleased the man when she was the first the break away and began trailing kisses along his jawbone and the side of his throat. She felt the vibrations of his shivering sigh and grinned against the delicate skin before moving her attention to his earlobe. His breath came out in long huffs, thrilling her into further action, driving her to nibble along the length of his pointed ear.

Lavellan took a quick breath as Solas' arms suddenly wrapped tightly around her, shuddered as he pulled her tightly against him and into his lap, and gasped as his teeth sank into the flesh where her shoulder and neck met. Her body bucked in his grasp, her moan soft in the air as the pressure sent sparks of pleasure through her muscles.

His mouth did not leave her, while his hands found the clasps and ties of her armor in the back. The relieved straps opened it just enough, and Solas moved away from her to see the discolored mark of his affection on her skin just before slipping the armor over her head. It left her in a green sleeveless top that opened in the front, tied with three small bows, and he could not help but think how, for lack of a more accurate wore, _cute_ she looked in it. It was the shirt she wore beneath all of her clothes, and sometimes relaxed in at the tavern or around her room, but suddenly it felt too revealing to her. She placed her knees on either side of him, raising to stand on them and wrestle his faded blue tunic off.

Solas' chest was bare before her, and Rhawlin marveled at him. He had more muscle than he let show, body defined in a way that only hard training would accomplish, but far from the swelling a warrior might have. His touch surprised her, forced her attention to his hands traveling up her hips and ribs beneath her top. His touches were teasing as they skirted passed her chest, thumbs lightly grazing the slight roundness of her breasts, before he pushed the fabric off of her shoulders.

He had expected the Inquisitor to wear something typical of a noble lady. Solas knew little of the modern women, but he had learned enough to know that they wore underclothes to support the weight of their breasts. Silk and lace, he'd been told. The binding wraps around Rhawlin's chest were not even a particularly comfortable fabric, and had been wrapped layer over layer to suppress her curves. Happily, he noticed that the small bottle of hardened blood hung resting atop it.

“This must not be comfortable.” His words were soft, gentle eyes looking up to stare into the face of his beloved.

“Less uncomfortable than them getting in the way while jumping from the shadows..” She laughed, but it was embarrassed, shy.

“Still.. How long have you bound yourself?” His fingers ran down the length of her spine, barely able to be felt through the fabric.

“Four or five years, I'd say.” She looked down at the length of her body and grimaced. “I know I don't need to now, with the armor they made for me in the Undercroft but, eh, habit. Getting to hunt animals was the only quiet I got, and even then they watched me from the shadows. And, well, it's hard to be a hunter if your weight gets thrown off every time you leap.”

Solas found where the binding was secured with a tiny pin and casually plucked it from the fabric. Instincts brought her arms to hold the wrap against her chest as it began to fall from her, and he chuckled softly.

“Do not be afraid to leap.” He smiled, carefully grabbing her wrists and slowly pulling her hands away, his stormy eyes locked onto hers, giving her the chance to deny him. She stared at him in return for several seconds before bending over to kiss him, body trembling lightly.

Solas rose to tower over her and gently lay her back against the bed, one hand moving down to slip off her remaining boot, while only breaking the contact to take small breaths. The bindings had fallen to bunch at her waist, and he hooked his finger into them and the band of her pants before tugging, rougher than Rhawlin was expecting. She giggled into his mouth, and he broke the embrace to look down at her blushing face mischievously. He could not control his wandering eyes from seeking what he had so longed to see as they trailed down, and could control his mouth even less as it followed.

He laid kisses down her collarbone, down between her breasts where he stopped to tease her with his mouth, tongue and fingers, squeezing and kissing the mounds until her quickening breaths came as small moaning whines. His lips sealed around her nipple, licking gently, biting occasionally, smiling into her soft skin when she would arch her back against him. He continued until she was shaking and he had left her breasts covered in his marks of affection.

A wet line trailed down her abs and stomach where he'd licked, to end just below her navel. Hands traveling down her body with gentle caresses grabbed her hips as he rolled his eyes up to watch her flustered expressions. With a smile, one hand went father, a finger sliding down as he laid kisses on her belly, to slowly draw against the sensitive line over her small clothes. She gasped, body twitching just slightly and he grinned to feel the material already dampened.

“Have you dreamt of me, _vhenan_?” He whispered against her between kisses. “Have you ached for me to touch you like this?” His finger made a tight swirl, somewhat pushing the material into her wetness, soaking it further and tearing a small moan from her.

“Yes..” She breathed, head rolling back against her pillows. The hand at her hip gripped the thin fabric and yanked, and it took Solas only moments to pull all the fabric from her legs, and only a second more to return his attention to her. His fingers stroked between her folds, flicking and teasing the swelled tip occasionally, before he slid one slowly into her. Silken muscles squeezed and spasmed around his finger, her sudden moan echoing around the room, and he thrilled at her reaction.

“Have you yearned for me to bring you over the edge?” He withdrew his digit and slid it back, slow, torturous, again and again as her _yes_ came out as a breathing whisper on the cusp of another moan. Solas added another, looking up at her with rose-tinted cheeks and a grin, watching her body arch and tremble. Lips and teeth fell on the cleft of her sex while his fingers worked, attention on the small bead of nerves driving her moans nearly unbroken, breaths sudden and heaving. His surprised gasp was quickly followed by a low, satisfied chuckle as her body lifted from the velvet of her blanket with the force of her apex.

Solas rose above his panting love on his knees while subtly wiping his chin, staring down at his blushing, twitching reward for his labors. Rhawlin was flushed from head to toe, coloring her skin so red that she seemed to glow against her bedding, eyes-half lidded, showing the freckles that usually hid behind her attentive gaze, and a weak but contented smile playing on her lips. A beautiful sight, far beyond all that he had imagined.

The elf woman roused herself quickly, blurred eyes focusing on the man towering over her, and the weak smile became strong and joyous. He bent forward, bracing his hands on either side of her head to lay a kiss on her lips, which she returned with eagerness, her still-shaking hands running down his chest, ribs, hips to grip the top of his pants and slide them down his thighs. She broke the kiss to watch the blush creep down into his neck and up into the smooth skin of his head, to the tips of his ears.

Her hands fumbled with the tie on his small clothes, for the swelling beneath them was an extremely distracting thing. The nervous elf did her best not to apply pressure to his hardness, and grunted with impatience when she'd accidentally made a small knot. Solas tilted his head as he came to understand; the woman had never known a man. It made sense, when she had only had freedom out of clan Lavellan for the week of travel to get to the Conclave, and the clan themselves had scorned her for so long before that.

“ _Ma vhenan, hamin_. You will learn that there is no need to rush.”

Grimacing, she looked up at him, not bothering to hide the displeasure that her inexperience was so obvious. Accidents while hunting and rough travels destroyed any physical virginity she might have had, and tending to herself was a rare occurrence when she had the time and privacy, which she was lacking in her often monitored life since Val Royeaux, since before she came into her body. Passionate air between the two elves became still, and a defeated sigh passed her lips.

“I am afraid there is so much to learn..” Her head rolled to the side, avoiding his gaze, while she internally chided herself for not being forthcoming about her lack of wisdom earlier.

Solas watched her for only a second before he pulled her up to her knees, bringing her as close as her body could get to his within his arms, huffing lightly at the plush of her breasts against his chest. “I do not desire you for what you know. It is that you want to know that made me fall for you, and if it is what you wish, I would be honored to teach you, again."

And just like that, the heat re-engulfed them, though flickering and uncertain. She agreed with a silent nod, and Solas whispered against the top of her head, an odd sentence of old elven that comforted her, though her understanding of it was limited. Her muffled request for guidance in pleasing him, vague as it was, was greeted with quiet enthusiasm.

After shuffling and explaining and further flustered questions, Solas laid on his back in Lavellan's bed, stripped of all clothing to match his pupil. The old god's arrogance crumbled to her lingering gaze as she knelt beside him, a mixture of modesty and appreciation taking its place, exciting to know she savored the view.

Savor, she did. The sharp lines of defined muscles, still lithe enough that dancing with his staff was not awkward, all angling down to force her eye to follow. She paused at the length of his member, lips parting lightly in naïve awe, and he chuckled softly. His directions were gentle, voice soft and encouraging, as he gently grabbed her hand and guided it over the head. Her fingers wrapped round him lightly, slowly pulling down, and she gasped to feel him twitch in her palm. His breathing moan, however, was incentive enough to continue how he had instructed.

She moved to kneel between his legs, and took a shaking breath before laying a kiss on the tip. He sighed happily and whispered reassurances, and being the reckless rogue she was, she continued with fervor. She kissed down, then trailed her tongue up, and closed her lips around him, ever keeping a light grip. With hand and mouth, she tasted and teased, hitching his breath in a sloppy and untrained rhythm. His fingers curled in her hair on the back of her head, and warmth flooded her body from cheeks to toes. Solas' touch stirred her drive, his coarse pants pleased her, and his gentle grip guided her into a more even cadence.

“ _Fenedhis..._ ” He hissed, his grasp tightening as he watched her work to please him, watched her beautiful lips pull on his shaft. “You will undo me too soon, _emm'asha_.”

Her golden eyes rolled up to gaze at him with curiosity, but more obviously, longing, as she took as much of him into her mouth as possible, pressing the head of his cock part-way down her throat. It was too much. The elf man's hips bucked out of his control, thrusting himself deeper until her lips pressed against his skin and he spilled bitter heat and liquid down her throat.

Rhawlin swallowed what she could and coughed on what she couldn't, quickly straightening with the surprise. Solas scrambled to her, one hand at her cheek while he rushed to apologize.

“ _Abelas, emma lath, ir abelas_.” He spoke in hushed whispers, but she smiled when she had finally caught her breath, and kissed along his jaw.

“ _Tel'abelas_. I'm glad.” She muttered between two kisses, and he held her closer with a relieved sigh.

“Do you wish to continue, _vhenan_?”

She blushed, embarrassed, but her approving smile was sly and suggestive. “ _Dread Wolf take me._ ”

Solas laughed, joyful and heavy with lust for his cunning lover, and he pushed her back down into the pillows. While a rain of kisses he dropped on her lips and neck, he ran a hand down the back of one of her thighs and gently pulled, opening her legs to expose the warmth of her slit to the cool air, and she shivered. He lined himself up to her as he muttered elvish against the skin on her throat, and took a shaking breath.

“ _Ma aneth ara, emma lath bellanaris. Sahlin, uth, ma emma asha.”_ He whispered, and she wrapped her arms around him, one hand at the back of his head, the other on his back, with a pleased croon. Solas pushed himself into her slowly, carefully, and she bit back a half-pained moan as he sheathed himself to the base.

Was it magic that thrummed throughout her body as it fought to adjust to his width? Rhawlin bowed back, fingers squeezing where she held him, toes curled, and she gazed up at him with half-lidded eyes. Maybe it was magic, because his eyes seemed edged with light, his body seemed unreal above her, and her body moved on its own accord to shift her hips impatiently.

As he dragged himself out, the sudden emptiness was shocking, and she took a sharp breath to whine. It burst from her a tearing moan as Solas buried himself in her again, and the gasps and moans became a sublime tune that moved him as he made love to her. His gray eyes watched Rhawlin's lewd expressions whenever he could; when her nails bit and dragged down his arms as she arched, he could see how she bit her lip. When she tossed her head to the side while her body convulsed another orgasm around him, her screams echoing about. When he lifted her to sit atop him and faced her, guiding her hips with with one hand and holding her up with the other, he could see the embarrassment in her knit brow, even as her body rocked and she cried her pleasure, praised his name.

Solas, Solas, Fen'Harel, fuck, she would gasp and whimper, her movements becoming frantic, desperate, and she screamed, bucking while he held her half-pinned against his chest. She danced the edge, all but losing herself in a song of moans. He sang with her in a final moment that seemed like it was hours long yet mere seconds, thrusting himself up as much as the angle would allow, and emptying himself with a force that shook her, pushed her over the edge until she was thrashing in his lap.

Solas did sleep beside her for some hours, and they spoke in the Fade about the Pantheon and the Inquisition and the charms that she was supposed to have written a speech for. Together they tossed around ideas, watching different wisps chase and play and dance around them as they walked, hand in hand. Eventually, Solas said he should wake, and leave her quarters so no one would find them in the morning. Rhawlin agreed, easily, and they bid each other goodnight before parting ways. On her own, the Inquisitor dreamed of the memories Fen'Harel had showed her and too often, of fucking him. 

**Author's Note:**

> The first genre I chose was Spiritual - The first elf I created for DA:I had the flat accent, and I actually really loved that (lost it when I customized Hawke, whoopee), but it made me wonder why the Dalish elf didn’t speak like Merril’s Clan/Keeper, Sabrae, another clan of the Free Marches. The simple answer was of course that different clans, different speech. But that felt boring. I thought, maybe the Inquisitor always was a little bit different, and probably wasn’t born into a clan. She had been initially brought up with different beliefs not strictly religious, but taken just as seriously. (I thought about Tallis during this, and her accent, her origins, and her religious/political involvement.) Those views were forced to change when circumstance brought her to Clan Lavellan. 
> 
> It was a hard change, of course, and probably left her bitter. For some reasoning or another this made me thing she would be more open to the ideas of other religions, Andrastian in particular as it starts to be so prominent in her life as the Herald. 
> 
> The second genre I chose was Romance - Solasmance, to be specific. Anyone who has taken that step off the solavellan cliff knows how.. trying.. the course can be. Without saying too much, suffice to say he can really mess with your head. and face. and heart. But a relationship with him and his teachings could very well affect an open-minded elf. And what comes of romancing him, in my opinion, might have been a rather traumatic moment. 
> 
> Its another in a series of grievous wounds to faith and heart. I believe it might have been stunting, and thus dangerous in a time where a leader is extremely needed. Especially one considered holy by the masses.
> 
> I don’t really know how it all came together but I think this little headcanon might help if my writing is hard to understand.


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